Fight Our Battle Cry
by Breakaway25
Summary: With the rest of the world embracing the ship girls, it comes time for the United States to follow suit. They turn to a young naval officer who has seen first hand what the Abyssals are capable of to lead the program. This is his story, and the story of the early days of the United States Navy's ship girl program as they begin their fight against the Abyssals.
1. Chapter 1

_ Everything around him was in flames. The fire was slowly consuming his ship, igniting anything on her that would burn. It had been raging for almost an hour now, and he knew that there was probably not enough ratings left alive to fight the fire. There had to be someone else on his ship still alive, becuase he could still make out the steady _Bang-Clink-Bang-Clink _of the 5" gun cycling rounds, but it would only be a matter of time before that too fell silent. Looking out the shattered bridge windows, he could barely make out their attackers. They appeared only as blurry blobs in his damaged and blood soaked eyes. The ship had no chance of survival, burning and dead in the water, it was only a matter of time before it fell, but it was still damned and determined to take as many of the attackers down to the depths with it._

* * *

Captain James Smith, USN, woke from the dream with a shout. He then spent several seconds, frantically looking around the room before he realized what had happened. Even though it had been more than two weeks since that fateful day, he had had that same damn nightmare almost every night since then. From experience he knew that trying to go back to sleep after being woken by it would be pointless. So he simply swung his legs over the side of the bed, and sat still until his nerves calmed and his body stopped shaking. He was startled to hear the door to his little, hospital room being opened, and when he looked up he saw one of the nurse lieutenants stick her head in. "Captain Smith, are you alright," the nurse asked, worriedly.

Smith gave her a dismissive gesture and replied, "I'm fine lieutenant, just memories."

"Do you want me to get Doctor Callahan?" she asked. Commander Callahan was one of the attending psychiatrists here, and Smith's personal shrink.

"No, lieutenant, I'm fine. It was just a nightmare, it's over now," Smith said.

"Very well Captain. Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything," she said before closing the door.

_ If that nurse does what I she will do, I am almost certainly going to be visited by Doc Callahan sometime today_. _Well, might as well look my best for the good doctor_. Smith pulled himself off of the bed, wincing as a stab of pain came from the four inch long scar on his thigh, and staggered into the tiny, adjoining bathroom. He took a moment to splash water onto his face from the small sink, then looked up into the mirror as he toweled himself dry. Smith had always thought of himself as an average looking man, with fair skin and a tanned complexion. He noticed that his closely cropped brown hair was beginning to gray a bit at the temples. _Understandable, I guess, with all the stress I've had over the last year._

One thing he saw in the mirror caught his eye instantly. _As if the constant nightmares aren't enough, all I have to do to remember is look into a goddamned mirror_, he thought to himself bitterly. He tentatively reached up to run a finger along the web of scars that lined the left side of his face, and over the flap of skin that covered the socket where his left eye used to be. Sighing softly, he stripped down and entered the shower. After he was finished, he went back into his room and pulled a book out of the stack of books on his desk at random, then plopped down onto the bed and began to read. Smith had always been something of an amateur historian, so when he had first been hospitalized, he had made sure that a part of his substantial collection of history books had been shipped to Pearl. He had read and re-read several of them over the last two weeks, mainly out of boredom.

A few hours later his door was opened for a second time, he lowered the book to see Commander Eric Callahan enter the room.

"You gave the nurse quite a scare today Captain," Callahan began.

"I can assure you that I wasn't trying to," Smith replied. Callahan walked up and sat down on the end of the bed.

"I didn't wake you captain, did I," he asked.

"No, I've been awake for a few hours now," Smith replied.

"Nightmares, son?" he asked in a comforting tone.

"Yes, commander, it was a nightmare," Smith replied curtly.

"Captain, I get the distinct feeling that you're trying to avoid me," Callahan said.

Smith sighed before replying, "Yes, I've been trying to avoid you."

"And why is that?" he asked. "I'm only here to help you."

"I've been having nightmares every night for the past two weeks. I don't want you to say I have PTSD or something so I can get drummed out of the service," Smith replied, bluntly.

"Son," Callahan began, "You just came out of a harrowing ordeal, one that would test any man. Nightmares are an expected and normal reaction to a situation like that. Now if you still have the nightmares in six months, then we can talk about PTSD. But until then, you are just as sane as any other man who came out of that battle."

Smith leaned back, a look of relief crossing his face, "Okay doc, thanks."

"You want to talk about it?" Callahan asked.

"What's there to say? We were attacked by the Abyssals, they destroyed our ships, and I was knocked unconscious and dragged away in a RHIB by my master chief," Smith replied.

"You commanded the _Evans_, am I right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I was her skipper for eight years," Smith replied.

"Do you feel any guilt, for surviving I mean," he asked.

"Doc, I don't think I will ever forgive myself." Smith replied, giving the doctor a hard stare.

"For what."

"For living, when my men didn't. But do I want to join them? No, no I don't," Smith answered, sinking back into the bed and staring at the ceiling. "I lived, I can still make a difference in this fight. Throwing away my life because I feel a little guilty is just stupid."

"Well, captain, I think you've just answered a lot of questions," Callahan announced, standing up, "You have physical therapy in an hour, right?"

"Yeah, I do," Smith replied.

"Okay, then I have some paperwork to go fill out. See you later captain," Callahan left the room, closing the door behind him.

_Why do I get the feeling I just said something I shouldn't have_. _Well, he was right about the physical therapy, might as well get ready for that. _He got out of bed and replaced the book on the stack. Then he went over to the bedside table and retrieved a small, black eye patch, which he then settled over his empty socket. Smith had only received the patch recently, and was still getting used to the feel of it. He had learned that seeing the patch startled people less than seeing his empty socket, even though it had completely healed by now. He left the little room and headed for the physical therapy area, knowing that the next hour was going to hurt. _Hell, it's going to hurt worse than those damn sea trials back at the academy_.

* * *

Smith staggered back to his room a little over three hours later. He had spent an hour running laps and doing calisthenics under the watch of one of the physical therapists. _Damn people must have been stolen from Paris Island_. When he entered his room, he was surprised to see a man he didn't recognize sitting at his desk, flipping through a book. Smith was about to challenge the man, when he recognized the two, silver stars of a rear admiral, upper half, on each of the man's collar points. Instantly hard drilled discipline took over and Smith popped to attention. "May I help the admiral?" he asked.

The man looked up from the book and said, "Ah there you are. Doctor Callahan said you would be back soon."

"I was in the mess getting breakfast. May I ask what you are here for, sir?" Smith asked, desperately trying to identify the admiral. There weren't that many two stars in Pearl. Smith thought that he knew all of them, but this man was unknown to him.

"My name is Admiral Steven Davies, I head up the Department of Management Analysis here in Pearl. I have a proposition for you captain," Davies explained.

"Excuse me, sir, but what is the Office of Management Analysis?" Smith asked, confused.

Davies though for a moment, before replying, "Let's just say that my boss is Admiral Lockart and leave it at that." Smith knew that name immediately, Admiral Thomas Lockart was the current director of ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence.

_This guy is a spook, or at least he leads spooks. What does he want with me, I was never a spook._ This wasn't the first run in Smith had had with the intelligence community. They had tried to poach him for intelligence work coming out of the academy, something about the fact that he spoke fluent French, German, and Russian. He had managed to avoid their efforts, and had instead earned a billet as a divo aboard the old _Halsey_. He had made a career for himself in the surface fleet, serving in various officer billets, both at sea and ashore. So he was a bit confused as to why this intelligence officer wanted to see him. "Sir, what do you want with me?"

"Recently a new unit has come under the command of my organization. It's a bit of an unusual unit, and I need a man to lead it. While going through the service records of possible commanders, your name came up," Davies explained.

"Sir, I was never intelligence," Smith added.

"That's alright son, I'm not looking for an intelligence officer. I'm looking for a surface commander, and you're that in spades," Davies replied.

One question stuck out in Smith's mind, "Why me?"

"Son," Davies began, "You are a gifted commander, who has seen combat against the Abyssals firsthand. Not only seen combat, but proven that you are capable of remaining calm and collected while under fire. I need a man like that to command this unit."

"Sir, I already have a command, with 3rd Fleet," Smith replied.

Davies gave Smith a wistful look, before saying. "The Navy is currently planning on shipping you back to the states, where you will spend the rest of your commission pushing papers at the Pentagon. They quote something about wanting front line commanders to be at the peak of physical condition." Smith walked over and collapsed, hard, into his bed. He had expected something like that to come down the pipe for him. Being shuffled off to some bureaucratic position because he was no longer fit for active line duty due to medical restrictions.

"Sir, what exactly are you offering me?" Smith asked.

"It's a command posting, that draws full at sea pay. You will, however, be spending most of your time ashore, and you will be on the very front lines of our war against the Abyssals," Davies explained. "I would explain further, but as the old cliché goes, these walls have ears."

_What do I have to lose doing whatever job he wants me to do? It'll probably beat sailing a desk somewhere, and at sea pay isn't something to sneeze at._ "I'll do it, sir," Smith announced.

"Very good," Davies pulled a card out of his breast pocket and handed it to Smith, "Here's my address, be there in an hour and we'll talk more about your assignment." Davies stood up, then pointed to something on Smith's desk, "That came for you while you were out. See you soon, captain." Then he walked out. Smith looked briefly at the card he had been handed, it was a simple business card with an address at the naval base printed on it: Building 1024, room 28. He put the card in his pocket, then walked over to the desk to see what Davies had pointed at. On top of the stack of books was a large cardboard box. He picked up the box and weighed it in his hands. He had a pretty good inclination as to what it contained. Removing a box cutter from the desk, he slit open the tape holding the box closed. Just inside the top he found a piece of paper, obviously inserted by whoever packed the box.

He read it, "I couldn't find any of your old uniforms around the house, so I bought a new set from the navy exchange. See you soon, Commander Sarah Smith." Smith couldn't help from smiling a bit after he read the note. He had been convinced that his wife was an amazing woman when he had married her. Now, ten years later, he still thought she was an amazing woman. He had lost all of his uniforms when they had gone down with the rest of the contents of his cabin on the _Evans_. Now, without his asking, his wife had bought him a full set of brand new uniforms as replacements. Laying the box on his bed, he began to unpack its contents. When he was done, there was a full set of whites, a set of service khakis, and a set of NWUs laying on the bed. He also found a combo cover and a garrison cap in the box. However, the uniforms were completely bare. A small bag filled with accoutrements was in the bottom of the box. Deciding that the khakis would be the most appropriate – that had been what Davies was wearing – he began to lay out the uniform. He was so busy pinning devices onto the jacket, that he didn't hear Commander Callahan enter the room.

"Getting ready to go somewhere captain?" Callahan's question startled Smith, he looked up to see the man standing in his doorway.

"Yeah," Smith answered, "I got an offer from one Admiral Steven Davies to go work for him. He offered to show me around his shop and give me a rundown of my new billet."

"Well then, I'm sure you will be happy to hear that you have been hereby cleared for limited duty pending a further medical exam," he announced.

Smith looked at Callahan, startled, then asked, "When did this happen?"

"Well, Admiral Davies came by earlier this morning and asked how hard it would get you cleared. I told him that you were physically ready for it, all you needed was a little more mental examination."

Realization dawned on Smith's face, "Our little talk this morning..."

"Was me confirming what I had already diagnosed with you," Callahan finished.

"So what's my prognosis doc?" Smith asked, interest piqued.

"You are a man who has been through a tough ordeal, and as such, has been traumatized by it. However, you are recovering, but I believe that in time, you will make a full recovery," he said.

"Thanks doc," Smith said as he finished buttoning up his jacket.

"Well, captain, I don't think I can say anything else to help you, so I will just say this, good luck," Callahan said before leaving the room. Smith picked up his new garrison cap and placed it snugly on his head. Then he retrieved Davies' card and read the address printed on it one more time. _Now to find a ride, or a map_. Smith stuck the card in his pocket and left the room.

* * *

As it turned out, building 1024 was only three blocks away. Smith was able to find it in about thirty minutes after he left the hospital. Now Smith had seen quite a few office doors during his time in the Navy. Most of them had a sign announcing in some detail what was carried out in the room, and by whom. The door to room 28 didn't even have a room number. Smith had to find it by counting up from room 12, which did have a sign, Officer's Head. Even then he wasn't sure that he had the right room, room 28 had two strong deadbolts on it, making it look like a storage closet. With no other option, he knocked on the door. However, as soon as he knocked, he heard movement inside, then the sound of the deadbolts being opened, and a moment later the door opened just wide enough to reveal a man's face. The man said nothing, but his expression asked Smith to state his business. "I'm looking for room 28," Smith said. The man nodded, waiting for Smith to continue. "I was told to come to room 28 by Admiral Davies," Smith said.

"What's your name, please," the man asked.

"Smith."

"May I see some identification, please," the man asked. Smith reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet, handing the man his officer's identification card a second later. The man studied it carefully, then looked at Smith's face. A second later, he opened the door just wide enough for Smith to enter. Inside was a small area, just enough for a desk. On the other side of the room there was another door, again with two deadbolts. When the man walked over to the telephone on the desk, Smith saw that he was wearing a pistol in a skeleton holster on his back.

"I have a Captain Smith here," the man said into the telephone, "He says he's here for the admiral." There was a pause, "Well, damn, I suppose everyone was told but me. What does he need?" There was obviously a reply, but Smith couldn't hear it. The man put the phone down, then reached into his desk and came out with a clipboard and a small, plastic ID badge. "Sign here, sir," he said. "Just your signature, not your rank and unit." Smith signed his name. The man handed him the badge and said, "This is a temporary ID, you use it until we can get you your own, sir." Smith looked at it before he pinned it on, it was a simple piece of plastic covered cardboard. It said, "Visitor," and had the insignia of Pearl Harbor Naval Station. "This is good for anywhere in the building sir," the man said, "Or almost anywhere. It's not good for the ONI building, or 3rd Fleet HQ. Until you're further cleared, you better stay away from there."

"Okay," Smith said.

The man stuck out his hand, "I'm Petty Officer Hartman, sir. The admiral was a little vague about when you were coming down."

"So I heard you say," Smith said, taking Hartman's hand.

"Well, you're here now," he said as he took out a set of keys and unlocked the second door. "I was told that you're supposed to go see Major Harte upstairs, sir. Someone will tell you where to go when you get there."

"Thank you PO," Smith said as he went through the door. He found a flight of stairs on the other side that led up into a large room filled with a strange assortment of machinery. There were computer monitors lining a wall displaying what Smith thought was a live feed from a satellite, a large touch table displaying a map with photographs overlaid, a bank of photocopiers and fax machines, and a good deal of other equipment that looked expensive and complicated. Smith couldn't even guess the purpose of some of it. The machinery was being operated by a strange looking assortment of personnel, some in NWU's, some in MCCUU's, and some wearing civilian clothes. Smith stood in the doorway watching the people in the room do their jobs with rapt fascination, before he was noticed. A man wearing NWU's and the insignia of a full lieutenant approached him.

"May I help you, captain?" he asked.

"I was told to find a Major Harte," Smith replied.

"Ah, first door on the left," the lieutenant said, and pointed down a hallway.

"Thank you, lieutenant," Smith said. There was a sign hanging on Major Kevin Harte's door. It simply listed his name and XO. Smith found Harte sitting behind his desk when he entered the room. He was a short man, but muscular and so erect, that he looked taller than he really was. His desk was neatly organized, and bore a name board with his name on it. Behind his desk was a second door, this one with a sign that read: "Rear Admiral Steven Davies, Commanding."

"Are you Captain Smith?" Harte asked.

"I'm Smith," Smith replied.

"Admiral Davies told me to expect you. I have some paperwork for you to fill out captain," he said.

"What kind of paperwork," Smith asked, warily.

"Just some transfer orders, a statement of clearance, and a non-disclosure agreement. Basically a lot of signatures," Harte explained. He then reached into his desk and pulled out a stack of papers, which he then slid over the desk towards Smith. "All of the places that need your signature have been flagged, all you have to do is sign them all," he said. Smith removed a pen from his breast pocket and began to work on the paperwork.

Twenty minutes later the door opened, and Admiral Davies walked in. Smith and Harte jumped to their feet out of reflex upon seeing the superior officer. "As you were," Davies said, and the two other men sat back down. Davies turned to look at Smith, then said, "Come on Smith, whatever that is, it can wait." Then he turned to Harte, "Just what exactly is that major?"

"Just paperwork that the captain needs to sign, mostly statements of clearance" Harte replied.

"Well, do you think he can put that off for forty or so minutes while I brief him?" Davies asked.

"Sir," Smith interrupted, "I'm almost done with this."

"Well then, come with me captain," said Davies. He then turned towards Harte and said, "Kevin, why don't you collect everything Captain Smith still needs to sign and get it ready for him. Then go get yourself something to eat."

"Aye aye, sir," he replied. Davies opened the door to his office, then waved Smith in.

"Close the door, would you captain," he said when Smith was in the room. Smith closed the door, then sat down across from the admiral. "I bet you have a lot of questions for me," said Davies. "But first I want you to answer one question for me. What are the Abyssals captain?"

Smith was a little shocked by the question, "Sir, I think you know more about them than I do."

"I want to hear it in your words captain. What are the Abyssals?" Davies asked.

Smith though for a few seconds before replying, "The Abyssals are bio-mechanical lifeforms that are extremely hostile. They will attack anything on the ocean's surface, be it military or civilian, that is not one of their own. Their existence was first confirmed about two years ago, when a Japanese fishing trawler managed to get one on video. They had probably been sighted before then, but had been ignored as some conspiracy theory. Back then the attacks were still small scale, a fishing trawler here a pleasure cruiser there, nothing over a thousand tons Then, about a year and half ago, the attacks stepped up in severity. Larger commercial freighters and tankers, as well as military frigates and corvettes, were attacked, with devastating results. The Abyssals seem to be armed with a variety of small to medium caliber guns and old style dumb torpedoes, which have proven very effective at sinking ships."

Smith paused for a second to take a breath, then continued, "When the navy learned of these attacks, it was put on full wartime alert. Every asset not in workups or dry dock was put to sea. It was about that time that we learned that the Abyssals give off a radar return so small, that it is almost impossible to detect them until they are within spitting range. Two carrier groups were hit in quick succession with massive loss of life and the utter destruction of both groups. This seemed to act as a rallying cry for the Abyssals, and soon the attacks worldwide began to rapidly escalate in severity. Soon it was too dangerous for any ship in the open ocean to continue operating, the sea lanes were cut and there was mass panic worldwide.

"Using the lessons learned from the first two attacks, new strategies were developed and new ideas on how to fight them were put forward. A third carrier was attacked two weeks later, however, this time it was able to stave off the attack, and managed to limp home. Over the next year a pattern of quick strike attacks became the norm, the Abyssals would appear out of nowhere, hit a ship, and then disappear back into the depths. It soon became a war of attrition, and they had the numbers to burn. Navies around the world were rendered useless as their ships were sent to the bottom. We were only able to fight off the Abyssals as long as he have because we had the most ships before the war began. It was about that time that I got hit, and they managed to sink a third carrier in the process."

"Well son, that wasn't a pretty bad summation for a non-Intel officer," said Davies as soon as Smith had finished his brief. "Now, what is your opinion on how the war is going?" Davies asked.

"Sir, we are fighting a war we cannot win. We simply can't match the rate of attrition the Abyssals are maintaining," Smith replied.

"Alright son, you satisfied my need to know that you aren't completely ignorant about our enemies," said Davies. "First, do you have any idea what we do here?"

"Intelligence analysis?" Smith guessed.

"Close," Davies replied, "This office was set up ten years ago as sort of a clearing house for Intel gathered by the fleet. We take information, analyze and find the relevant bits, then send that onto ONI. So when the Abyssals first appeared, we were the first ones to hear about them."

"Sir, what does this have to do with me," Smith interrupted.

"Because we have been gathering and analyzing information about the Abyssals for nearly two years now, we have taken on the role of the de-facto experts on them," Davies explained. "So when information about a new way to fight them came through, we got it first."

"Sir, what do you mean, a new way to fight them?" Smith asked, interest piqued.

"What do you know about the ship girls," Davies asked.

"I don't know much, just what's shown up in the news of late. They're girls who possess the spirit and strength of warships of the past," Smith replied.

"Correct, well, partly at least," Davies said. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a large folder with "Top Secret" liberally stamped across its front. When he slid it across the table, Smith saw that it was full of pictures. "These are snapshots from our Japanese counterparts. They distributed them to all of the major naval powers so that everyone knows just what exactly to look out for in case they start finding ship girls of their own," he explained. Smith picked up the folder and flipped through it. The pictures were of several different young women wearing what looked like pieces of ships on their backs. However, what was most startling about the photographs was the fact that each of the girls were standing on water as if it was solid ground.

Then something that Davies had said clicked in Smith's mind, "Wait, sir, are you saying other navies have started ship girl programs?"

"When the Japanese started to show progress with their program, they divulged all of the details to the UN. Several other navies picked up the baton and started programs of their own." Davies reached into his desk and pulled out a few more photos. He slid the first one towards Smith then said, "Here are the Royal Navy girls Hood and Ark Royal." After Smith had a chance to look at it, he slid the second one over, "The former Kriegsmarine – now Deutsche Marine – girls Bismark, Tirpitz, and Prinz Eugen."

Davies paused before saying, "They have already seen great success with their programs after only a few weeks, so much so that the President asked when we were going to start a program of our own. With the surface boys still busy fighting and licking their wounds, the task fell to the experts on the Abyssals, us."

"Are you saying that we have a ship girl program?" Smith asked.

"Not yet, all we have right now is an empty naval base, on Midway Atoll," said Davies.

"Sir, Midway? Hasn't that base been abandoned?"

"It was, up until about two weeks ago. It got reactivated as a part of the overall war effort, along with half a dozen other bases around the world. We stole it to set up as a HQ for our ship girl program because it's far from prying eyes, it has direct access to the Pacific, it's relatively close to the front lines, and it's got an airstrip long enough for strategic air lifters to land on," said Davies.

"It is, however, still a bit run down. The buildings were abandoned for thirty years, so there isn't much in the way of suitable housing right now. I did manage to steal a Seabee company to go in and build some new living quarters and facilities. So one of your first tasks as CO is to supervise their work," he said.

"Alright admiral, I think I get the picture. When do I leave?" Smith asked.

"In about a week, captain. We want to try to bring a USN ship girl here before we activate the base. No sense wasting taxpayer money on a project that doesn't work. We're going to try tomorrow night, so you might want to be there to watch," said Davies.

"May I make a request, sir?" Smith asked.

"Depends on what it is."

"Can I get my old chief to serve on staff?" he asked.

"You got a name, and know where he is now?" Davies asked.

"He's a man by the name of Rowin Boggs, Master Chief Boggs, and he was the best CMC I ever had under my command. I think he's still in Pearl doing some administrative work," Smith said.

"Well, I'll do what I can, but I'm not making any promises. Before you leave, are you planning on moving into the BOQ?" Davies asked.

"Yes, sir, they cleared me for limited duty, so I'm going to go see about getting a bigger room," Smith replied.

Davies retrieved a sticky note and quickly wrote down a phone number. "This is the number for this office, just call and ask for me if you have any questions," Davies said as he handed Smith the note.

"I don't think I have any further questions, sir," Smith said as he stuck the note in his pocket.

"One last thing," Davies slid the photographs on the table back into the folder, then held it out for Smith, "This has everything you'd ever want to know about ship girls, please read it before tomorrow night."

Smith took the folder, then said, "Thank you, sir, I look forward to working with you in the future." Davies nodded, then held out his hand for Smith.

"Likewise," he said as Smith shook the offered hand. Smith then turned and began to find his way out of the building. Once this was achieved, he started towards the staff officer's BOQ, hoping to get all of his things moved before lunchtime. _This has certainly been one hell of a day_, he thought as he walked away.

* * *

Author's Note: I'll try to keep this short 'cause I know how much everyone hates these things. First, I don't have a beta, and I am terrible at proofreading, so I expect their to be grammatical and punctuation errors in this. Please let me know if you find any. Second, the first couple of chapter are meant as characterization/world-building, there will be a bit more action in later ones. Third, names of ships when referring to the actual ship are italicized, names of ships when referring to a girl, are not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Bachelor Officer's Quarters, Joint Base Harbor-Hickam, June 2, 2018**

The next morning Smith was lounging on his new bed reading through the dossier that Davies had given him. Besides the multitude of pictures, it had several documents detailing the nature of the ship girls, it was a very fascinating read. _We really need to come up with a term for them that doesn't sound like something out of a cheap novel_, Smith thought idly, as he read.

Apparently, the Japanese claimed that every ship ever built, possessed a spirit, a soul if you will, within the hull. These spirits were fully sapient and could form memories based on the experiences of the ship. When the ship was sunk – or sent to the breakers – the spirit left the hull and moved on to a sort of ship afterlife. The spirits could then be called back to earth using a complicated device that Smith could not make heads or tails of, even with the detailed explanation and diagrams in the dossier. When they came back, they took on the forms of young women, but retained all of the strengths that they had had as ships. He had heard about the ship girls just like everyone else, they had been all over the internet for the last couple weeks, but he had always believed that it was just some kind of super soldier/exo-suit program, it did originate in Japan after all.

If someone had told him last week that the ship girls were actually human reincarnations of old warships, he would have laughed in their face. Now he had several hundred pages of documentation laying on the desk in front of him explaining how they were. It certainly raised a lot of questions for Smith. _I almost can't wait to meet one, just so I can get some of these questions answered_, Smith mused. He was so consumed by his thoughts, that he didn't hear the first knock. However, he did hear the second, much louder, knock. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Master Chief Rowin Boggs. "What brings you this deep into officer's country today master chief?" Smith asked.

"Well, I was in the neighborhood, and I heard you got out of the hospital. I thought I would stick my head in, make sure you hadn't died of boredom yet," Boggs explained.

"Come in chief, come in," Smith said and held the door open for Boggs to enter. Rowin Boggs was a short man, whose burly frame displayed the effects of a lifetime spent in the military, but he exuded a physical presence that made him feel much larger than he actually was. "Chief why do I get the feeling that this visit doesn't have anything to do with my well being and release from the hospital?" Smith asked. He had known Boggs for a long time, and the man never did anything without a good reason.

"Cause it isn't," he replied, bluntly, "I wanna know how come I got called yesterday from some two star I have never heard of, telling me that I've been transferred to the Office of Management Analysis. What is that anyway, supply, logistics?"

"It's intelligence," Smith explained.

"Intelligence, I've never been in intelligence," Boggs interrupted.

"Chief hold on a second," Smith said, trying to get a word in edgewise. Boggs suddenly became very quiet and stared at Smith. Smith shuddered a bit internally, he had known many a trouble making rating who had been stopped in their boots by that very stare. "The Office of Management Analysis is intelligence, but they're also the predominant experts on the Abyssals. They're putting together a unit to fight the Abyssals directly, and they asked me to lead it, so I asked if I could have you as my CMC," Smith explained.

"What kind of unit?" Boggs asked.

"That's where it starts to get weird," Smith replied.

"Weird how?" Smith proceeded to explain everything that he had learned over the last two days to the master chief. When he was done the chief simply said, "Okay then, when do we start." Smith was a little shocked that the man had accepted everything he had just said without question.

"Don't you have any questions chief?"

"Sir, you just confirmed something that I had known for a long time," Boggs said.

"Excuse me?" Smith asked, confused.

"You ever hear the snipes talking about how sometimes parts last a lot longer than they're supposed to, or how something will break at exactly the right moment to save someone's life and usually in port where spares are plentiful," Boggs asked.

Smith thought about it for a second, "Yeah, chief, I have."

"We always chalked it up to good luck, good engineering, or the old girl looking out for us. I guess it's not a hard step to say that the old girl, was in fact, looking out for us," Boggs explained.

"I guess you're right chief," Smith replied.

"Of course I'm right, I'm a master chief petty officer, we're always right," Boggs said, puffing his chest up dramatically. He dropped into a more serious tone, then added, "Well, I don't think I have anything else to do today, so I'm going to go arrange to have my personal effects packed for shipping. Where is this new base of ours going to be, sir?"

"Midway Atoll," Smith replied.

"Midway, huh, now there's a name I haven't heard in thirty years. Isn't it pretty run down?" Boggs asked.

"Yeah, but Admiral Davies – he's the two star by the way – managed to steal a unit of seabees to go and fix it up for us," Smith replied.

"How about that, damn seabees are finally good for something," Boggs mused, "If you don't need me for anything, I'll be going."

Smith was about to agree when he had a thought, "Hey master chief, It's been a while since I've seen you, why don't we go out and get some lunch."

"Sir, but wouldn't that be a breach of the fraternization regs?" Boggs asked, jokingly.

"I think there are a few regs that I can get by with waiving for one so, experienced, as you are," Smith replied in a similar tone. "By the way, do you have a car, mine's still in Diego."

"Yeah, I got a car. Well, borrowed a car," Boggs replied. Smith gave him a questioning look. "They had this old jeep at the motor pool, and the chief in charge owed me two hundred bucks, so I agreed to waive the debt if he let me borrow the thing for a couple of weeks," he explained.

"Chief is there a single chief petty officer in the navy that you don't know?" Smith asked.

"Well, there are two in Diego one in Norfolk I've been meaning to meet," Boggs replied.

"Chief has anyone told you that you're amazing," Smith said chuckling, "Let's go get some food and you can tell me about these chiefs you haven't met yet."

"Aye aye, sir," Boggs said as he stood to leave the room, followed by Smith.

Smith opened the door to his quarters about two hours later, exhausted. _I can't believe that I'm still recovering from wounds after all this time. _Upon entering the main room, he found a chair and plopped down into it. He had just started to unlace his shoes, when he heard a knock at the door. _It never fails, and right as I had just started to get comfortable too_. He was a bit surprised to see PO Hartman standing on the other side of the door. "Is there something I can help you with PO?" Smith asked.

"I have a stack of paperwork for you to fill out captain," Hartman replied, holding out a briefcase in front of him.

"What kind of paperwork?" Smith asked, suspiciously.

"Just some supply requisitions, personnel transfers, and other forms of that nature. You're the CO of a naval base now captain, there's a lot of paperwork involved in that sort of thing," Hartman explained.

"Okay," Smith said, taking the briefcase from Hartman, "When does the admiral want these done?"

"No later than two days from now," he replied.

"Is that all PO?" Smith asked.

"Sir, Admiral Davies says that he will call you later tonight, and that you are to report to him immediately when he does," Hartman added.

"Understood petty officer, good day," Smith said then closed the door behind Hartman, and took the briefcase over to his desk. He had been told many times that the Navy sails on an ocean of paperwork, a three inch tall ocean of paperwork judging by the briefcase. He set it down and began to sift through its contents. There were transfer orders cut for about fifty different people, apparently his new base was going to have a full complement of enlisted ratings and two additional officers. There was also a stack of supply requisitions for everything from rations: standard mess, to helicopter: SH-60. It was interesting to see what the admiral had thought he had needed for the base. There seemed to be a form in here for everything, and Smith had to sign every last one of them. He finally gave up after signing forms for four hours. He was about to crash on the couch and watch TV, when the phone rang. "Smith," he answered gruffly.

"_Captain, it's time. Please report to my office_," said Admiral Davies on the other end.

"I will be there in about thirty minutes, sir," Smith said.

"_Good, don't be late_," Davies said, then hung up. Smith stood up and stretched, then headed for the door.

Twenty minutes later he walked into Admiral Davies' office. "Well, you're early," Davies announced.

"I was taught at the academy that an officer always arrives fifteen prior," Smith explained.

"I hope that's not all they taught you at the academy," Davies replied. "Anyway, it's time for us to go." Davies stood and walked past Smith to his office door. "Major, I'm leaving and won't be coming back tonight. Go ahead and log me out of the system," he said to Major Harte in the outer office.

"Aye aye, sir," Harte replied a few seconds later.

"Come on captain," Davies said, turning back to Smith, "We have an appointment to keep." Smith followed him out of the building towards a navy gray painted staff car. Davies got behind the wheel, then gestured for Smith to get in next to him. "Did you read about the summoning device in the packet I gave you?" Davies asked after driving for a few minutes.

"I read it, I didn't understand it," Smith replied.

"Well to be honest, I don't understand it a lot myself," Davies said. "We're going to meet Dr. Richter, the head scientist behind this little dog and pony show, and watch the device get turned on for the first time."

"Do we have any idea if it will work, sir?" Smith asked.

"It worked for the Japs, the Brits, and the Krauts, and we got their help on building the damn thing. So yeah, I think it will work," Davies answered. "It doesn't matter what I think anymore, we're here," he announced as he turned the car into a parking lot. When Smith got out of the car, he saw that they were going into a large warehouse just outside of the main piers. They were stopped by a Marine sentry standing watch at the door, but were passed through when Davies showed the man his identification.

Inside the warehouse was very bright. There seemed to extra arc lamps hanging from the ceiling of this building, casting their harsh white glare onto a floor of concrete so polished, it shone like a mirror. Looking around the room, Smith could see that it was filled with all sorts of machinery and technicians scurrying around doing complicated tasks. When Davies entered the room, he called out, "Dr. Richter." One of the technicians turned to look at them. He was a short, mousy looking man with thin silver hair and thick eyeglasses.

He ran over to Smith and Davies then said, "Ah, Admiral Davies, is a pleasure to see you."

"Doctor, this is Captain James Smith, he's going to be the new base commander for this little project," Davies said, pointing at Smith.

Richter turned to Smith and said, "A pleasure to meet you captain. I assume you have read the information I assembled about the technical side of this process?"

"Yes, I did, but you have to forgive me doctor, I'm an engineer, not a scientist. I couldn't understand half of what that report talked about," Smith explained.

"Well, suffice to say, most of the science behind this whole project is pretty unknown. The information I put in the report is pretty much sum total of all we know about the science. The only reason we know this works is based on experience," Richter explained.

"Why don't you explain the theory behind the device to Captain Smith and myself, in layman's terms," Davies asked.

"Very well," Richter began, "The device uses a finely tuned magnetic field to punch through dimensional barriers into where the ship spirits are. It acts as a signal to them, a beacon that they are able to follow through the hole we created, and come here."

"How do the spirits know who is calling them?" Smith asked, "What nation is sending the signal?"

"We use a form of amplitude modulation to send a signal that they will recognize," Richter replied.

"And that signal would be?" Smith asked.

"Here, I'll show you," Richter said, then began to fiddle with one of the computers. "We needed something that every ship in the US Navy has heard at one time in their service careers, and something that is instantly recognizable as being sent by the US Navy," he explained, "So we chose this." As he tapped a key, music began to play from some hidden speaker. Smith new immediately what the song being played, and couldn't help but grin as the verse was sung.

_Stand Navy out to sea,_

_ Fight our battle cry!_

_ We'll never change our course,_

_ So vicious foes steer shy-y-y-y!_

Smith had to agree with the doctor, if there was one song that every member of the US Navy would recognize, it was _Anchors Aweigh_. "Very good thinking doctor. So, when will it be ready to turn on?" Davies asked.

Richter tapped another key and the music stopped, then he said, "In a few minutes Admiral, the capacitors need to finish charging. The device takes a lot of power, so we use a capacitor bank so as to keep from overloading the local grid." He stood up and waved the two officers to a part of the room where chairs and viewing screens had been set up, we took the liberty of setting up an area where people can view the process without interfering with the technicians," he said.

"Thank you doctor," Davies said as he sat down.

As Smith was sitting down, Richter said, "If you will excuse me admiral, it's time to start. Watch the pedestal right there," he pointed to a square on the floor taped off with yellow and black caution tape, "That's where the magic will happen."

When he had walked away, Smith turned to Davies and said, "Interesting man."

Davies only reply was, "Quite."

"You have any idea what this is going to look like, sir?"

"No captain, I have no idea. Let's watch and find out," Davies replied.

A few seconds later the lights dimmed and Smith heard Dr. Richter call, "Start it up, slowly." A soft whine could be heard as the machine started, it then began to grow in intensity. Smith thought that is sounded very similar to a jet turbine spooling up. When the whine had built up to a thunderous pitch, the lights in the room blinked out, but were soon replaced by a bright, white glow emanating from the taped off square. The glow only lasted a second, before dying and sinking the warehouse into complete darkness. The lights popped back on a second later, and Smith was startled to see the form of a young woman standing in the center of the square. She looked around the room for several seconds, obviously confused as to what was going on, and then promptly collapsed into an undignified heap on the floor.

Before Smith knew what he was doing, he had jumped up and run over to the unconscious woman to make sure that she was alright. He was so busy with his inspection, that he didn't hear Dr. Richter approach. "It's quite alright captain, she's fine," Richter explained. "Sometimes when the spirit comes through, the shock of the transition is a bit much for the new physical body to take, and she passes out."

"I guess it was a good move to call the corpsmen," Davies said as he walked up. He then whistled and called, "Corpsman, stretcher." Two men in NWUs ran up carrying a stretcher between them. They laid it out on the ground next to the girl's unconscious form, then rolled her over onto it. "They're going to take her to the naval hospital, just to be sure," Davies explained.

"Then admiral, I request permission to accompany her to the hospital," Smith announced.

"May I ask why captain?" Davies asked.

"Sir, she's probably going to have a lot of questions when she wakes up, and I think it would be best for her new CO to be there to answer them," Smith explained.

"Very well captain, you may accompany her to the hospital, but I want a full report in the morning."

"Thank you, sir," Smith said before running off after the corpsmen. He saw them putting the stretcher into the back of a waiting ambulance. "Wait up corpsman," he called, "I'm coming with you."

One of the corpsman looked at him, then said, "Okay captain, but you're gonna have to ride in the back."

"That's fine," Smith replied, before jumping into the back of the ambulance and sitting down in a jump seat. The girl had been strapped into a gurney on the other side of the ambulance. _If I hadn't seen her appear out of nothing a few minutes ago, I would never guess that there was something special about her. I don't even know who she is, just that she used to be a ship. How the hell did I get mixed up in this crazy mess? _Smith rode in silence all the way to the hospital.

* * *

When they got to the hospital, the docs checker over briefly, then they gave her a bed and a set of hospital gowns while she was still unconscious. Smith went to "borrow" a folding chair so he could be there when she woke up. He must have nodded off at some point, because he found himself being woken by a call of, "Excuse me?" His eye popped open and he looked around. The girl was sitting up in her bed, staring straight at him.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he said as he stood up and stretched. "You've been out for quite some time."

"Excuse me," she said again, softly, "Can you tell me what's going on?" She looked so lost and confused, she was in a strange place, with strange people, and in a form that wasn't her own. Smith's heart went out to her.

"It's alright, I'm here to answer any questions you have," he soothed.

"Where... where am I?" she asked.

"The base hospital, Pearl Harbor Naval Station," he replied. "And before you ask, my name is Captain James Smith, I'm your new CO."

"Pearl Harbor? What happened?" she asked.

"First off, what do you remember?" Smith asked.

"I was at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, tied up and awaiting scrapping. I sat there for years before I finally let go. Then I was in a place I didn't recognize. One day an old admiral came to me and asked me if I was willing to serve my country once more. I told him yes, then I ended up here," she explained, obviously straining herself trying to remember.

"Do you know who you are?" Smith asked."

"I was a warship," she announced, "Second of the _Yorktown_ class aircraft carriers, USS _Enterprise_." Smith's eye grew wide.

"You... you're Enterprise?" he said, shocked. _Of all the ships that could have come through, the first one is _Enterprise_? Well, when you think about it, who else could it be?_

"I am, or was," she replied, "I don't know what I am now, only that I remember being an aircraft carrier." It took Smith a moment to regain his composure from the revelation that the girl lying in front of him used to be one of the most decorated warships afloat.

After a quick breath, he explained, "You are human now. You were given this form when we called you back. I don't know why it works that way, but it does." He reached out and took her hand in a gesture of comfort. She looked up at him, the scared expression in her large, gray eyes slowly fading. "If you feel up to it, the doc needs to give you a physical, then how about I treat you to lunch. I always try to take my junior officers out to lunch when they report aboard."

"That would be fine captain," she replied, simply. He held his hand out again, this time in order to help her out of bed. She took it and hoisted herself onto her feet. She almost lost her balance and Smith thought that he would have to catch her before she fell, but she recovered at the last second.

"Are you alright?" he asked after she had regained her footing. He was actually a little surprised at how tall she was. She was almost as tall as he was, and he was more than six feet.

"I'm fine," she said after a second, "It feels like my mind knows that I used to be a ship, but my body knows that it's human, if that makes any sense."

"Probably whoever is out there orchestrating this whole thing decided that giving former warships human form without the knowledge on how to use that form was too much," Smith reasoned. Enterprise simply nodded. "Come on, the doc's waiting," Smith said, and began to lead her out of the room. He had been told by a doctor that when Enterprise woke up, she was to be taken to one of the adjacent diagnostic rooms so that he could give her a physical. The doctor came in a moment later, and unceremoniously told Smith to get out. He plopped himself in a chair in the waiting room, and sat waiting silently.

About an hour later the doc came out holding a clipboard. "As far as I can tell, she's perfectly healthy," he announced.

"So, in your medical opinion, she has nothing that would disqualify her from military service?" Smith asked.

"Nothing that I can see," he replied, "If you don't need me anymore, I'd best be going. Good day captain." Smith walked into the diagnostic room to see Enterprise sitting on the table, staring at her reflection in a mirror.

She was whispering softly, "This is really who I am now." Smith sighed at the sight, she really did look for the world like a teenage girl.

"Here," he said, "I got you these while you were out." The hospital gown she had been given wasn't really suited for everyday use, so he had gotten her a set of NWUs and skivvies from the NEX while she was still unconscious, getting the measurements from a helpful nurse.

Enterprise looked at the clothing questioningly for a minute. "What is it?" she asked.

"New uniforms," he replied.

"That doesn't look like any uniform I've ever seen before," she said, not comprehending.

Smith mentally slapped himself, "Right, forgot about the time difference. Okay, today's date, is June 2, 2018, and there have been a lot of changes to the Navy while you were gone."

"Like this," he said as he held out the uniform, "This is a Navy Working Uniform, or NWU. It's the standard on duty uniform these days." He sat the clothes down next to her and said, "I'll leave while you change. Just come outside when you're done." Five minutes later Enterprise walked out the door wearing the NWUs.

"Is this right?" she asked. He looked her over quickly, and saw that she had managed to put on the uniform correctly.

"That's fine," he said. "Come on, let's go get you some food, then we can meet the admiral. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to meet you." The two walked out of the hospital and off to find something to eat. _Here I am going to get lunch with the USS _Enterprise_. I honestly don't think this day can get much stranger_.

* * *

And that's the second chapter done, and I got to explain my system of ship girl summoning. One of the best things about playing around in this universe is that the majority of the canon is left up to the readers. So this is my take on it, with technobabble replacing magic because I could honestly never see a situation where the USN would turn to magic to solve their problems, so technobabble.

And we got the first girl, none other than the USS _Enterprise_, because honestly who doesn't define the US Navy in WWII more than the _Enterprise_? There will be more ship girls later, I just won't be doing a "Your human now, how does it feel" scene for every one of them, and Enterprise was special because she was first.

Again I have no beta, so this is only proofread as well as I can do it, and I'm terrible at it. So if if any mistakes are found, please let me know.

Edited for typos 7/3/15


	3. Chapter 3

**Joint Base Harbor-Hickam, June, 3, 2018**

"So you're Enterprise? Well, how about that," mused Admiral Davies as Captain Smith led Enterprise into his office.

"Yes, sir," she replied, simply.

"You wanted to see us, sir?" Smith asked as he lowered himself into a chair.

"Yes, frankly, when you told me that our mystery girl was the Enterprise, I just had to see her for myself," Davies explained. "Have you given any thought as to how we're going to deal with further Fleet Auxiliary Personnel?"

"Fleet Auxiliary Personnel?" Smith asked, questioningly.

"Do you know how stupid it sounds to write a report to CINCPAC about 'ship girls'?" Davies asked, "So I came up with a more, military term."

"Fine, sir, and the way I see it, we have two options. One, we commission all the 'Fleet Auxiliary Personnel' that we get as officers in a rank fitting their past service. Or two, we give each girl an equal enlisted grade and allow them to advance up the ranks, though merit and achievement, like any other sailor," Smith replied.

Davies was silent for several seconds before saying, "I think for now it would be best to start all future fleet auxiliary personnel out in enlisted grades. Then, once we have more experience with this whole thing, we can start thinking about commissions."

"I think that would be for the best, sir," Smith replied, he had a thought and continued, "We might think about putting a system of direct commissioning in place. Take the girls who demonstrate the potential to become officers, and give them a direct commission. I could even set up a simplified version of OCS to teach the more mundane side of being an officer."

Davies pondered this for a moment, before replying, "Alright captain, I think that would work. I would need to talk to CINCPAC though to get you operational authority to make battlefield commissions. On that note, what are you going to do with Enterprise here?"

"Sir, I request that Enterprise be given a commission as, at least, a lieutenant jay-gee, and then assigned to my command to serve as my XO," Smith replied. A look of shock and confusion washed over Enterprise's face at the suggestion.

"Sir, I'm not qualified to be an officer. I've only been here for a day," she protested.

Davies held up a hand, silencing the rest of her protest, then asked, "Can you please explain the reason for that suggestion captain?"

"Sir, I believe that for this unit I'm going to need someone to serve as a direct liaison between myself, and the ship girls. Someone who can relate with them on a personal level, what better choice than Enterprise," Smith explained.

Davies sat in silence for several seconds, then reached over and pressed the intercom button on his desk, "Major, could you please see if you have any commissioning papers out there, and if you do, please bring on in." Davies released the button and leaned back in his chair, then said, "Here's what we're going to do captain. I will have the major prepare the paperwork necessary to commission Enterprise here as a full lieutenant. Then I will go down to 3rd Fleet HQ in order to have them approved. While I'm doing this, you will take Enterprise down to the NEX and get her some officer type uniforms and anything else she needs, I'll give you a department credit card to pay for all of it. Hopefully I can get the bureaucratic BS done with by the end of the day, and we can have her sworn in then."

"Aye aye, sir," Smith replied. Just as Davies was about to say something else, Harte burst into the room, a worried look on his face.

"What is it major?" Davies asked, a look of concern appearing on his face.

"Sir, you're going to want to look at this," he handed a piece of paper to Davies. "It just came over the 3rd Fleet over the FLASH line." A chill ran down Smith's spine at this announcement.

_If it's a FLASH message, it's probably about something pretty bad._

Daviesquickly read the message, then said in a low voice, "Major, go talk to Colonel Reid over at Hickam, see if they have anything going west we can hijack to take a couple of officers out to Midway." The major nodded, then ran out. Davies turned back to Smith and explained, "According to this, the _Carl Vinson _got hit an hour ago."

"What's the extent of the damage?" Smith asked, his tone serious.

"We lost the carrier," Davies replied flatly.

"Shit," Smith swore softly and leaned back in his seat.

"Excuse me," Enterprise said, getting everyone's attention. "Who attacked the carrier?"

Davies looked shocked for a second, then asked, "You haven't told her?"

"I was waiting for the transition shock to wear off a bit more before I dropped that bombshell, but it looks like the Abyssals have beat us to it," Smith replied. Davies leaned over and tapped several keys on his computer. A few seconds later a projector whirred to life and threw a picture up on the wall. Davies stood up and walked over to it. As the picture came into focus, Smith could see that it was of one of the destroyer type Abyssals

"This," Davies announced, "Is an Abyssal. They are a highly aggressive life form that has been waging open warfare with the entire world. They attack any ship on the open ocean, hundreds have been lost to their attacks."

"What does this have to do with me?" Enterprise asked. Davies reached over and pressed another key on his computer, changing the picture. This time a picture of a group of ship girls sailing across the ocean came up

"As a ship girl," Davies began, "You possess the same strengths and abilities now, as you did back when you were the USS _Enterprise_. You have the capability to take the fight directly to the Abyssals. I would explain further, but I don't really know a lot of details myself. We're all new at things of this nature. Right now all you need to know is that we're putting together a group of ship girls, under Captain Smith's command."

"So there are others," Enterprise asked, "Like me?"

"Not in the US Navy right now, but we're working on that," Smith replied.

Harte poked his head back into the room and announced, "I got a hold of Colonel Reid. He says that they have a C-5 leaving for Japan at 2100. They would be more than happy to make a stop at Midway to drop our people off, in exchange for taking on extra fuel at Midway."

"Do we even have fuel at Midway?" Davies asked.

"It's a designated ETOPS emergency field, the FAA maintains a tank full of fuel there," Harte explained.

"Tell the Air Force that's fine, then go see about telling someone at the FAA that we're appropriating their gas, don't want yet another bloated bureaucratic organization breathing down our necks," Davies ordered. Harte nodded, then left the office. Davies turned back to Smith then asked, "Would you be able to catch that plane? You probably won't be able to come back here for quite some time, so anything you can't pack by 2100 would have to be shipped later."

"I think so, sir, I don't have much in the way of personal effects in Pearl, only some spare clothes really," Smith replied.

"Do you think Master Chief Boggs could be ready by then?" Davies asked.

"Yes, sir, Boggs told me once that he has moved so many times, he keeps a packed sea bag ready to go at all times," Smith explained.

"And I'm guessing that Enterprise needs pretty much everything. Someone will have to go with her down to the NEX to buy some clothes and other effects," Davies mused.

"Yes, sir," Enterprise replied. Davies was about to say something else when the phone on his desk rang.

He picked up the handset and answered, "Davies. Ah yes Dr. Richter, I was just about to call you, I need you to start packing your equipment up. The timetable got moved up a bit, and I want you out at Midway ASAP." Obviously Richter said something that startled Davies because a shocked expression came over his features. "You did what? Four you say. Well, I'll send Captain Smith down to deal with it," he said with a sigh. "Can you start breaking the equipment down? I want to send you out there soon. Thank you doctor."

"What was that all about?" Smith asked as Davies hung up.

"Apparently the good Doctor Richter decided that he needed more proof that the device worked. He ran a low powered test about ten minutes ago. Wasn't supposed to have enough power to call any girls, so he was very surprised to see four young girls appear out of nowhere," Davies replied, sighing.

"We have any idea who they are?" Smith asked.

"Nope, they passed out much like Enterprise. Luckily Richter thought it would be best to call the corpsmen before he called us, so they're currently at the hospital," Davies explained. "Whelp, you know what they say, when it rains, it pours."

"Do you want me to go check on them?" Smith asked.

Davies sat silently, thinking for several seconds, then said, "Captain, head over to the hospital and debrief our new arrivals. I guess I'll go take Enterprise down to the NEX, and pick up uniforms for the new girls while I'm at it. Send me their sizes when you get them and I'll get some NWUs."

"Aye aye, sir," Smith replied, "Anything else admiral?"

"No, now get going, we still have a war to win," Davies said. Smith stood up, then ran out of the office.

_ What else could happen today, but honestly I wonder who it could be?_

* * *

When he got to the hospital, Smith was led to the room where the four girls were being kept. It was a standard hospital room with several beds against the walls. At first he thought that he had the wrong room because it was empty. Then he heard voices coming from the end of the room. A quick glance saw that one of the privacy curtains had been drawn closed over a bed against the far wall. Obviously the girls had woken up and had met in the corner. Smith carefully approached the curtain, trying to listen to the conversation that was going on behind it. The first thing he heard was, "Where are we?"

"I dunno. Does it really matter?" replied a second voice.

"All that matters right now is that we are here, and we are human for some reason," said the third voice.

"What do ya think they're gonna do with us. It's gotta be strange for them, having four ships show up out of nowhere, as humans no less," the fourth voice stated.

"Where will we go now? Who's going to take care of us? Why has no one come for us yet?" Smith could hear from the tone of the voice that the girl speaking was close to tears.

"Calm down, it's only been an hour, chances are that there will be someone along soon. You have to remember that this may be a new situation, but we're still warships of the United States Navy, there's no way they don't have a plan for us." Smith decided that now was a good time to intervene. He pulled the curtain back and cleared his throat, softly. Inside, he saw the four girls sitting together on a bed.

The first thing he thought was that they looked very young. Now Enterprise hadn't been much older than eighteen or twenty herself, but these girls... these girls looked to be ten or twelve. He had read a report in the dossier that ship girl's ages seemed to be based on the type of ship they had been, with destroyers being the youngest and battleships being the oldest. So it stood to reason that the four girls here were destroyers. They were probably of the same class too, since they shared similar features, like siblings. When he was certain that he had gotten their full attention, he said, "Excuse me." One of them, obviously the leader of the group, jumped to her feet instantly, and pulled a second girl up with her.

She came to crisp attention and barked, "USS _Nicholas_, DD-449 reporting for duty." Smith could see that she had short black hair cut in a military style cut, and a pair of intelligent brown eyes.

The girl she had pulled up with her was the next to speak, "Sir, USS _O'Bannon_, DD-450." O'Bannon had flaming red hair that reached down to her shoulders, and bright green eyes that twinkled with a hint of mischief. Smith was a bit surprised at how similar these girls looked. If it wasn't for the different hair and eye colors, he would almost think that they were twins. One of the girls still on the bed, jumped to her feet and looked at him.

"USS _Fletcher,_ DD rate number 445 ready for action, sir." Fletcher had brown hair cut similar to Nicholas's, and blue eyes.

The fourth girl stood up and looked at Smith for a second, before saying, "USS _Radford_, DD-446, are you here to take us somewhere captain?" Radford's hair was brown like Fletcher's, but it reached down to her shoulder blades. Her eyes were brown and wet with tears, obviously she had been the one crying earlier. Radford and Fletcher bore a distinct resemblance, like sisters, but they weren't twins. The four girls were all about the same height, five feet by Smith's guess, and of similar lithe builds. Their bodies were pretty much obscured by the standard issue hospital gowns they each wore. Something about their names clicked in the back of Smith's head, but he couldn't place what it was.

Smith paused for a second before announcing, "My name is Captain James Smith, and I'm your new CO. Now you probably have a lot of questions, but we don't have much time, so I'll do my best to answer whatever you can think of."

Fletcher was the first to speak, "Where are we sir?"

"Right now, the base hospital Pearl Harbor Naval Station, and just so there's no confusion later, the year is currently 2018," Smith replied.

"Captain, why are we here, like this," Radford asked, gesturing to herself.

"I'm going to have to be blunt because we don't have much time. We are currently at war with an extremely aggressive race of creatures known as Abyssals. They have sunk thousands of ships, and have reduced much of the world's blue water navies to so much scrap. We called you here so that you could take the fight to them directly. So I'm asking, are you willing to serve your country once more?" Smith asked. The destroyers stood, speechless for a moment. Then Nicholas stepped up to Smith, stood up on her tiptoes, and stared him directly in the eyes.

"I served for more than 25 years as a US Navy ship. I fought in three wars and got a fistful of medals for that service. My sisters here all have similar records. So when I ask, when do we start? I'm asking for all four of us," she announced, proudly. Smith had to smile a bit at this girl's spirit. He offered her his hand, which she took with a firm grasp.

"Welcome aboard Nicholas," he said, simply. Smith then went to each of the destroyers in turn, and shook their hands.

"A touching gesture captain, you really know how to treat your subordinates," Smith turned to see Admiral Davies standing in the doorway holding a stack of garment bags in his arms. He walked into the room trailed by Enterprise, who was also loaded down with bags. "So, don't keep me waiting, who are they?" Davies asked after a second.

"Admiral, I would like you to meet the destroyers Nicholas, O'Bannon, Fletcher, and Radford," Smith announced.

"Ah, DesRon 21," Davies exclaimed. It's good to have you girls in this fight. I'm Admiral Steven Davies, and I'm Smith's boss. So right now that means I'm the head of your chain of command," Davies said as he laid the bags on the bed. He pointed at Enterprise, who was laying her bags on the bed as well, and said, "This is USS _Enterprise_, CV-6, she was the first ship we brought back, and the only other one in the US Navy right now." The destroyers looked at Enterprise with a look of shocked amazement.

Fletcher was the first to speak, "You... you're Enterprise? The Enterprise?"

O'Bannon ran over to the older girl and began to shake her hand furiously, "It's a pleasure to meet you. You did so much while we were just chasing subs in the Solomons."

Enterprise desperately tried to extricate her hand from the eager destroyer's grasp, while she said, "I really didn't do that much, I stayed in the back and let my air group do the fighting. You tin cans are the real heroes, getting up close and personal to fight. I could never do that." Smith and Davies were trying very hard not to burst out laughing at the exchange. Two of the Navy's most famous ships, each trying to downplay their achievements to the other.

Finally, Davies managed to find his breath and say, "We picked up some uniforms for you girls to wear. You're going to be shipping out in about two hours, and it would look mighty strange for four girls wearing hospital gowns to get onto a plane, even if it is an Air Force plane."

"Enterprise, could you help them with the uniforms, they might have a bit of trouble at first," Smith asked.

Enterprise finally managed to pry her hand away from O'Bannon's grip and replied, "I would be happy to captain."

"Well then, we'd best be going," Davies announced, "We'll be back in about an hour to pick you all up, so be ready." He then stood and left the room, with Smith following closely. Once they were outside the building, they traded a look, then burst out laughing.

Once they had stopped, Smith said, "We now have Enterprise and half of DesRon 21, I'm starting to think our chances in this war are starting to look up."

"I think you might be right, captain. I think you might be right," Davies replied. "Oh, and by the way, I got a hold of Chief Boggs, he'll be ready to go when the time comes. Now you need to go and finish packing. I'll deal with Enterprise and the destroyers."

"Aye aye, sir," Smith said, then gave the admiral a crisp salute. Davies returned it and nodded.

Smith turned and began to walk back to his BOQ room. _We now have four destroyers to add to our roster. I wonder how many we'll have at the end of all this?_

* * *

**NS Midway Island, June 4, 2018**

It was a little after 0100 when the Air Force C-5 touched down at Henderson Field on Midway Atoll. Smith, Boggs, Enterprise, and the four destroyers were out of the plane and on the ground before the crew had started refueling. Smith looked around the area for a bit, searching for any facilities where he could berth his charges for the night. He was a bit surprised to see a man running towards him from one of the large hangars.

"You're Captain Smith?" the man called when he got close.

"I'm Smith," Smith replied.

"Commander Eric Rodgers, 33rd Mobile Construction Battalion. I got a call over the radio couple hours ago, said to expect company," Rodgers explained.

"Right now commander, all I need from you is a place to billet my personnel for the night," Smith explained.

"We got two of the old barracks are still standing. They got turned into hotels by an eco-tourism group couple a years ago, but they ran out of money and abandoned the island back in '11. I got my unit put up in one of them, but the other one is empty right now," Rodger supplied.

"Perfect, if you would be so kind as to lead the way commander," Smith said.

"Follow me."

As they walked Smith had a thought, "How much about what this base is going to be for did the admiral tell you?"

"What, about the ship girls?" Smith was a bit stunned to hear Rodger say that. "Captain, my unit used to be based out of Fleet Activities Yokosuka, that's where the Japanese put their first ship girl program. We helped the JMSDF build the first facilities to house them, so we know quite a bit about them. If you don't mind me asking captain, who are the girls you brought with you?"

"The little ones are the destroyers Nicholas, O'Bannon, Fletcher, and Radford, while the other one is the Enterprise," Smith replied.

"Really, we've been running this program for all a week, and we already got the Enterprise? My aren't we lucky," Rodgers mused. He then asked in a more serious tone, "Davies is planning on moving the summoning equipment out here isn't he?"

"That's the plan. He's planning on having the whole thing flown out on the next transport run, and by the way, we managed to set up a bi-weekly transport run by the Air Force. Unfortunately, it's not one-way service yet. The planes will use Midway as a stop on their way to Japan and Australia," Smith said.

"Good, then maybe I can actually get some of the materials I've been asking for the last two weeks. Well, we're here, barracks B. Myself and my unit are across the road in barracks A, just knock on the door and have the on duty officer come get me. Pleasure meeting you captain, I hope my men and I can do a good job in building America's newest line of defense," Rodgers said, offering his hand to Smith. As Smith took it, Rodgers said, "And captain, welcome to lovely Midway Atoll, I hope you enjoy your stay."

Smith was a bit surprised at how nice the rooms in the barracks were, but Rodgers had said, it had been turned into a hotel. Each of the rooms had a single bed and a desk. Luckily the central AC unit was working properly, keeping the building at a comfortable temperature. Smith claimed one of the rooms on the second floor, and threw his sea bag on the bed. He went down the hall to check on how the girls were doing, and was a bit surprised to see Radford trying to drag a bed down the hall. "Radford," he asked, "What're you doing?"

"Oh, I just wanted to sleep in the same room as my sister is all," she replied, sheepishly. Smith nodded, then bent over to help her move the bed. He helped her re-arrange the room the Fletcher had picked out so that they could comfortably fit both beds in the room. After that was done, he went to ask if Nicholas and O'Bannon wanted similar treatment, but they turned him down. When he checked on Enterprise, he was a bit surprised to see her lying face down on her bed, fast asleep, still wearing her NWUs. He pulled a spare blanket out of the closet and laid it over her, then turned off the lights. He went and found the room that Chief Boggs had claimed, and sat down on the desk.

"Well chief, what do you think?" Smith asked,

"Bout what, bout the base? Or bout the girls?" Boggs asked.

"About the girls," Smith clarified.

"I think it's amazing, that they're all so different from each other, especially the _Fletcher_s. You can tell just by talking to Enterprise, that she's a born leader. She'll make a good officer some day, especially if she has you teaching her. Nick's the same way, she keeps after her own, and God help the person who threatens her girls. O'Bannon's a firecracker, she's the kind of person who'll be the happiest while blowing something up. Fletcher and Radford, now that's a match made in heaven. Those two will probably stick together like glue, and will work the best while together. If you know what's good for you sir, don't split them up," Boggs replied

"I had thought something along the same lines," Smith said.

"It's gonna be interesting to see what other girl's personalities are like. Are they based on experiences during the war, or something else," Boggs said.

"I don't know chief, hell I don't think we'll ever know. Not fully," Smith said.

"Well anyway, you up for a couple rounds of Acey-deucy? I slept like a log on the plane, and there's no way I'm getting back to sleep tonight," Boggs announced.

"Yeah chief, that would be great. You got a board, or do you need mine?" Smith replied.

"Naw, I got a board, never leave my sea bag without it," Boggs said as he rummaged around in his bag for the board in question. Finally finding it, he laid it out on the desk. Smith and Boggs ended up playing the game until the sun came up.

The game finally ended when O'Bannon burst into the room the next day. "What're we going to do today captain?" she asked loudly.

"Depends on who else is awake," Smith said as he stood and stretched out his back. I was planning on inspecting the base today."

"Nick's awake, I know. Fletcher and Radford are still asleep," she explained. "So is Enterprise."

Smith had a thought, then asked, "You know what time it is?"

"Bout 0530, why?" replied Boggs.

"Because for the first time in a long time, I actually have a command with a flagpole. I'm going to go see if Commander Rodgers has a flag," Smith announced, then left the room.

"Oh boy, this is gonna be good," Boggs whispered. "Do me a favor would ya, don't wake the others up just yet. I have an idea about what he's going to go do."

"What?" O'Bannon asked.

"You'll see," Boggs chuckled. Sure enough, five minutes later the shrill whine of a Bosun's pipe could be heard throughout the barracks, followed a second later by the sound of a bugler playing reveille.

Smith ran down the hall banging on each of the doors shouting, "Reveille reveille, all hands heave out and trice up. Formation in ten minutes at the flag pole." The three girls still asleep in barracks B groggily made their way outside. They found Captain Smith, Chief Boggs, and Commander Rodgers standing there waiting for them. Apparently Rodger's seabees were just as surprised to hear the reveille call because the staggered out of their barracks in a very similar manner. Smith looked over at Boggs, "You know what to do chief."

"Aye aye, sir," Boggs said, then he turned and bellowed, "_ALL HANDS INTO FORMATION, RIGHT THIS GODDAMNED INSTANT._" That woke the seabees up because they instantly closed ranks. The girls were a little more confused, they tried to copy the seabees, but had a little trouble. Boggs saw this and went over to them. After trying several times to explain the concept of a formation, and failing, he had to physically grab each girl and put them into the right position. When this was done, he walked up to Smith and gave him a crisp salute, "The detail is formed and ready sir."

Smith returned the salute and said, "Very well master chief, take your post." Boggs did a crisp about face, then marched to stand next to the formation. A group of four men, who had obviously been briefed beforehand, detached themselves from the formation, and marched to the flagpole, carrying the national colors. They clipped the flag in place, and Smith yelled, "All hands, _HAND SALUTE_." When Smith saw that everyone had followed the command, he yelled, "Color guard, _HOIST THE COLORS_." The colors began to climb up the flagpole, accompanied be the sound of To the Colorsbeing played by the bugler. When he had finished Smith yelled, "_READY, TWO_," and all the salutes were lowered. The last command wasn't really necessary due to the fact that the bugler had called To the Colors, but Smith thought that the extra command might help the girls learn the intricacies of the ceremony. The color guard detached themselves from the pole and retook their positions in the formation. Once they had done this, Smith commanded, "At ease." Commander Rodgers stepped up and called to his unit, then they left the area to go start their day's work.

A few minutes later Rodgers came back over to where Smith was standing and said, "All right, you'll be living on Midway for the foreseeable future, so it's time for the nickel tour." Rodgers led them through the base pointing out the building that had been refurbished, and where they were planning on building new buildings. They had actually already re-built the old headquarters building, and it was ready for Smith to move into. Rodgers explained that they were going to follow the system that the Japanese had figured out. They were planning on building separate dorms for each class of ship, where in destroyers would live with destroyers, carriers would live with carriers, and so on.

Smith watched with interest as a unit of seabees driving a bulldozer, knocked down one of the old buildings. "When will all of this be done?" Smith asked after a moment.

"We'll probably never be done with all the construction really. The way Admiral Davies painted this base, he thinks that it's going to be constantly expanding. But for the current plans? If I can get the materials I ordered here, I can be done in two weeks," Rodgers explained. "Sir, are we about done here?"

"Well then, I best not keep you from your men for too long commander," Smith said. Rodgers gave him a salute, then left. "Well, I have quite a bit to do in the new HQ. Everyone is free for the rest of the day."

"What're we supposed to do Captain?" Enterprise asked.

"Go run, go for a swim, explore the island, and just go have fun. I have work to do, no sense in dragging all of you into it," Smith replied. Boggs was the first to give Smith a salute, then he ran off. He was followed by Nicholas, who saluted for her DesRon, and finally Enterprise saluted, then ran off after the destroyers.

_Well, not a whole lot to do around here until Davies gets some more personal sent out. Both Naval and regular. Might as well call home and ask for an update. _Smith walked towards the HQ building whistling a tuneless melody.

* * *

Authors note: Chapter three is done. Where we meet the beginnings of DesRon 21 and finally get everyone out to Midway. I have to admit right now that I have never actually played the Kancolle game(not being able to read Japanese, plus the crap they put up for foreign IP's being the main reasons, and I got WoWS Beta access so I already have one game eating up my free time) so I don't actually know that much about the game play mechanics and characters. I have seen the Anime and read most of the translated mangas, but I am still a bit apprehensive about introducing one of the established characters. That may change in later chapters, but you'll just have to wait and see.

Right now I have finals staring me in the face, so writing is going on hold for a bit. But I should be back next week.


	4. Chapter 4

**NS Midway Island, June 10, 2018**

It was 0600 when Enterprise was woken by the sound of someone knocking on her door. She was a bit confused as to who exactly would be knocking at this hour. "Hey Enterprise, you awake in there?" called the voice of Captain Smith just outside the door.

_Now why is the captain waking me up at this ungodly hour_, she thought to herself. Then she had the thought, _J__ust a short time ago I wouldn't have been able to comprehend having to wake up, now I'm complaining about not having enough sleep. I really am adapting to this aren't I._ She managed to push herself up on the bed and reply, "Just a minute, sir, I'm not decent."

"That's fine, just meet me outside when you're done," he replied, then she heard the sound of him walking down the corridor. She stood and stretched, thinking about what exactly to do next. She decided that the captain would wait long enough for her to brush her teeth and at least try to tame the mass of bed head she normally sported each morning. After several tries with a brush, she gave up and tied her hair back under an eight point cover. Throwing on a set of uniforms, she opened her door to find the captain leaning against a wall, waiting for her. "You ready?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she replied, "Now why the hell did you drag me out of bed at this ridiculous hour?"

"You remember how Doctor Richter has been complaining that he couldn't get any work done because some important piece of equipment broke in transit?" Smith asked.

"Wasn't it something that had to be specially manufactured and shipped out here?" Enterprise replied.

"That's right," Smith answered, "Well, he finally got it on yesterday's transport flight, and he got his equipment working last night."

Enterprise made the connection, "Does that mean..."

"That we got another girl brought through? Yes, yes it does," Smith replied. "But there was a bit of a snag."

"What happened sir?" Enterprise asked, worriedly.

"She didn't pass out on emergence like you and the _Fletcher _sisters did. She came through fully conscious, and when she got a good look at Richter's shop, she got spooked and tried to bolt. Luckily I made it SOP that there be a pair of corpsmen on hand whenever Richter even thinks about playing with that toy of his. They were able to catch her and administer a mild tranquilizer," Smith explained. "She's currently sleeping it off in the maternity ward."

"The maternity ward?" Enterprise asked, confused.

"It's the part of the infirmary, I gave over to be used for rehabilitating new ship girls. Another example of Chief Boggs' penchant for irreverent names," Smith chuckled, "but it's already stuck, and there's no use trying to ignore it."

"So what do you want me to do about this?" Enterprise asked after a second.

"Why I want you to do what I brought you in as my XO to do. Help me talk to her, calm her down, and explain the situation," Smith replied, beginning to walk out of the building.

"But sir," Enterprise called out as she ran after Smith, "I don't know what to do."

"Sure you do, just think back to how you felt when you first woke up, then try to help her though that," Smith said.

"I'll try, sir," she said. Smith simply nodded, then got behind the wheel of an idling jeep. Enterprise got in next to him, and they tore off towards the base's small infirmary. _The base really has grown since we first got here_, she thought idly as the jeep bounced down the main road. Everything around them was a scene of progress, as enlisted ratings, as well as a few officers, were beginning their duty days.

It didn't take long for them to reach the infirmary building. It was a small building located about equidistant from the barracks complex and the base power station. Outside someone had put up a plywood sign with the words, "Best care anywhere" hand painted across the top. Enterprise didn't understand why it caused quite a bit of amusement for Smith as he passed under it. When Smith entered, the enlisted sailor behind the desk, took one look at him, before waving him down the hall without challenge. They passed through a set of double doors with a sign marked, "No Admittance, Authorized Personnel Only."

"Welcome to the maternity ward," Smith idly remarked as they entered, "This is where all new ship girls are going to come to get physicals." They walked into a room with four hospital beds pushed against the walls All of them were empty, save one. The bed in the far corner was occupied by the form of a young woman, and Enterprise immediately knew this was who they had come to meet. She was young, about 16 or 17 if Enterprise had to guess. She was currently wearing a standard issue hospital gown, but it did little to hide her attractive figure. She had long, light brown hair, tied up in a ponytail that reached halfway down her back.

"Do we have any idea who she is?" Enterprise asked after she had finished her inspection.

"No, she didn't say anything before we brought her here," Smith replied.

"So you're saying we have no clue who she is," Enterprise said.

"Exactly." Enterprise nodded as she walked over to the mystery girl's side. They didn't have to wait long before she groaned and began to stir. A few seconds later, her eyes popped open and she frantically looked around the room. When she saw Enterprise sitting next to her, she squeaked in surprise, then curled up into a ball, pulling her legs close to her chest.

"It's alright, no one is going to hurt you," Enterprise comforted.

The girl slowly looked over her legs at Enterprise, then asked, "Wh...What am I?"

"We called you here, back to the real world. And as a part of the process, you got given human form," Enterprise explained, then she asked in a quiet tone. "Can you answer one question for me? Who are you, what ship did you used to be?"

"USS... USS _South Dakota _BB-57," Dakota replied softly.

"Well Dakota, my name is Enterprise, formerly USS _Enterprise_, CV-6," Enterprise said pointing at herself. She turned and pointed at Smith, who was still standing by the door, "That's Captain James Smith, he's the CO of this base." Smith smiled and gave Dakota a small wave.

She raised her hand and copied Smith's movement, then looked down at the hand for several seconds. "I was the USS _South Dakota_, lead ship in my class of battleships, but now... now what am I?" she asked quietly. Enterprise reached out and took her still outstretched hand.

"You are still South Dakota, you just look a little different now," Enterprise stated. "I know things may feel different now, but you have to push past all that. You are still a proud member of the United States Navy, and you have to accept that fact."

"But what will the Navy do with me?" Dakota asked. Smith walked over to the bed and leaned down.

"Dakota," he began, "We are at war. A war against an evil force beyond even our wildest imaginations. We need your help, and the help of others like you in order to fight them."

She pushed her face closer to Smith's and said, "What do I need to do captain?" As Enterprise watched, the look of fear began to drain from Dakota's eyes. It was slowly replaced by, something else entirely, grim determination.

Smith gave her a comforting smile, "Right now you just need to stay here and get checked out by the doc. Once you do that, and pass a psyche test, we can start working out the terms of your enlistment. Just rest here for a while, I'll send the doc back in a bit."

"Alright captain, but don't forget about me and leave me here," she replied, placing a hand in the middle of his chest.

"We won't, you have my word," replied Enterprise. Dakota nodded and lay back on the bed, obviously still exhausted from her summoning. Enterprise watched as her eyes slowly drifted closed, and she fell into a deep, peaceful slumber.

"Well, what do you think of her?" Smith asked once they were both back outside.

"I think she is going to make a fine addition to our little lash-up," Enterprise replied after a second. Smith gave her a questioning look, then broke out into laughter. "What, what is it?" Enterprise asked, fearing that she had done something wrong.

"Oh, I was just thinking. When did you start thinking of this base as 'our little lash-up'?" Smith asked. "You really are turning into my XO. Which reminds me," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper. "I just got this in yesterday's satellite burst. Ms. Enterprise, if you would please raise your right hand and repeat after me." Enterprise was a little hesitant at what Smith was asking, but she did it anyway.

Once Smith saw that she had in fact, raised her right hand, he read, "Do you, Enterprise, solemnly swear that you will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that you will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that you take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that you will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office of which you are about to enter. So help you God?"

"I do," she replied without question.

"Well then, congratulations Lieutenant Enterprise, you are now officially a commissioned officer in the United States Navy. We can finally drop the brevet from all of your records," Smith said then offered her his hand. She took it with a firm grasp, then dropped it and embraced him.

"Thank you, sir," she said after they had separated.

"I still stand by my decision to make you my XO, you just proved me right back there with Dakota. I couldn't have calmed her down by myself, I'm just not that subtle," Smith said. "Now go and get yourself some breakfast at the wardroom, tell them to put it on my chit. Compliments of the commanding officer on your new promotion. Then go down to supply and see if they have a set of lieutenant's bars for you to use."

"I will, sir, thank you, sir," Enterprise replied.

"One other thing lieutenant, I also got word from Pearl in that data burst. Now that Doctor Richter has his machines working we are to prepare to begin combat operations," Smith said in a more serious tone. Then he added, "One of the things listed on the manifest of today's supply shipment is combat materiel."

"Sir, what is combat materiel?" Enterprise asked, confused.

"I don't know exactly, but I I had to guess, I would say it's your equipment. Your weapons and rigging, the things that allow you to fight and sail on the open ocean. We never had them here, and I was never told how to get them, so I assumed that Pearl was taking care of it. We'll find out today," Smith explained.

"Very well, sir, let me know what you find out," she said, then gave Smith a salute and ran off towards the main mess hall. She thought idly as she ran, _Things really are happening fast around here, I wonder if we can keep up._

* * *

An hour later, Smith found himself sitting behind his desk, filling out forms. What he had told Enterprise about them gearing up for combat was the truth, just not the entire truth. They were preparing to go to war, just a lot faster than he had implied. The Chief of Naval Operations, the highest commissioned officer in the navy, had gotten word of their little side show, and had asked why they weren't in this war yet. Admiral Davies had gone to bat for them, explaining that the few ship girls the USN possessed right now were unequipped and unstained, and that it would take time for them to work up to full combat readiness. The CNO had understood Davies' explanation, and had said that Smith's operation now had top priority for whatever supplies and personnel it required. So that was where Smith was now, filling out requisitions for more weapons and personnel so that they would be ready to fight when the time came.

Suddenly the distinct sound of a jet aircraft passing overhead reverberated throughout the office. "Chair force is early today," Smith muttered as he stood up and walked to the window. Sure enough, he caught a glimpse of a haze gray Air Force transport passing overhead on final approach to Henderson field. "Well, let's go see what the good supply fairy brought for us today." Smith pulled his eight point cover off the back of the chair, and made his way down to the airfield.

By the time he got there, the plane had already stopped in the parking apron, shut down its engines, and was beginning to offload passengers. He watched as a steady stream of new enlisted ratings wearing either NWUs or service coveralls exited the C-17's side door. One man in particular caught his attention. Unlike the men around him, he was wearing crisply starched whites. As Smith walked over to him, he noticed that the uniform was not that of the United States Navy. Before Smith could place the uniform, the man saw Smith and made his way over to the captain.

He snapped a salute and said, "Captain, I am Lieutenant Commander Toryu Miyata, Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force. I have orders transferring me to your command."

"Well commander, may I ask in what position you are being transferred into?" Smith asked after returning the salute.

"Am I correct in assuming that you lead your nation's kanmusu program?" Miyata asked.

"Kanmusu?" Smith asked, confused at the term.

"I believe your admiral called them, Fleet Auxiliary Personnel," Miyata furnished.

Realization dawned on Smith's face, "Oh, you mean ship girls. But to answer your question, yes, I command our ship girl program."

"Captain, I have been an officer in my nation's ship girl program since its conception a year ago. When your admiral contacted my government about setting up a liaison program, my name came up on the list of potential officers," Miyata said.

"So you're here to serve as a liaison to the JMSDF's ship girl program?" Smith asked.

"That is correct," Miyata replied, "I am here due to my expertise on the kanmusu, as such I will answer any question you have on the subject."

"I do have one. Where does the equipment come from?" Smith asked, "The weapons and rigging I mean."

"I must admit that my knowledge in that field is somewhat, limited, but I do know this. The equipment must be constructed by using advanced machining techniques," Miyata answered.

Before Smith could say anything else, a new voice said something behind him, "I believe that I can answer that better, sir." Smith looked over to see a man wearing Service Khakis and the insignia of a Chief Petty Officer.

"And you would be?" Smith asked.

"Chief Repairman Eric Zimmerman sir," he replied.

"Chief Zimmerman is the senior enlisted man in the main machine shop of Fleet Activities Yokosuka," Miyata supplied, "We have worked together on several occasions."

"And what is your connection with the commander here, and by extension, the Japanese kanmusu program?" Smith asked.

"Sir, back when the Japanese were first starting all this, they lacked skilled machinists – most of them were lost when the ships they were deployed to were destroyed – so they turned to the US Navy in general and my shop in particular to help them out. We built pretty much all of the original ship girl equipment. Now that they have enough trained machinists, they Navy decided that I could be of more use building equipment for our own ship girl program," Zimmerman explained.

"So Chief, when can you start?" Smith asked.

"I can get started just as soon as you can point me to your machine shop, but sir, do you mean to tell me that we already have ship girls on the base?" Zimmerman asked, looking a little stunned.

"We currently have six girls on the base, and all of the summoning equipment on hand. One of the girls just came through last night, and hasn't been cleared for duty yet. The rest are on full active duty," Smith explained.

"I don't see any problem with starting today sir. We even brought a starting point with us," Zimmerman said, making a vague gesture at the plane. Smith raised a questioning eyebrow, and Zimmerman continued, "We've been making standard US armaments for a while now, 5"38 caliber guns, 21" torpedoes, 40mm Bofors AAA guns, stuff that was so widely used during the war that pretty much any ship girl we had could use it."

"I applaud you initiative chief. Go check into quarters, I'll have someone point you in the direction of the main shop when you get done. Come find me when you think you're ready to start making the equipment, and I'll have the girls sent over to you," Smith ordered.

"Aye aye, sir," Zimmerman replied, then saluted and left.

Smith turned back to Miyata and said, "Commander, I would like you to give me a complete brief on everything you know about the ship girls, so why don't we adjourn to my office and continue our talk there."

"I think that would be best captain. If you would please lead the way," Miyata replied.

* * *

"Sir could I ask you a question?" asked Enterprise as she stuck her head into Smith's office. She was a bit surprised to see another man sitting in the room.

Smith looked up at her, "Ah, Enterprise, we were just talking about you. Come in." Smith pointed at the mystery man and said, "Lieutenant Enterprise, this is Lieutenant Commander Toryu Miyata, Japanese Maritime Self Defense force, he is here to be a liaison to our ship girl program."

Miyata looked Enterprise over, then offered her his hand, "It is a pleasure to meet you miss. I have to admit that your deeds are legendary, even among my countrymen."

Enterprise took the hand and replied hesitantly, "Yeah, I seem to get that a lot, but that was a long time ago."

"Right now, she's my XO, and a damned fine officer," Smith said. He pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to a mini-fridge sitting in the corner. "You want a beer commander?" Smith asked, opening the fridge. When he saw the concerned look on Miyata's face, Smith supplied, "Commander my policy for drinking on duty is this, for the first consecutive twenty four hours, I don't touch the stuff. After that, anything goes, and I never touch anything harder than beer, no matter how long I've been sitting at this desk."

"That's quite alright captain, this is an unusual command, and requires unusual customs in its running. I would love a beer captain," Miyata said, then caught the can as Smith tossed it to him.

"You want one Enterprise," Smith asked. Then, seeing the look of indecision on her face, he continued, "I also have Coke if you would prefer that."

"A Coke would be fine captain," Enterprise replied. Smith nodded, then tossed her the can in question. After he had filled everyone's drink orders, he settled himself back in his chair. "Before we continue, what was it that you wanted to ask Enterprise?"

"Sir, I just wanted to know when you wanted me to get fitted for equipment," Enterprise asked.

"Zimmerman's working on the destroyers right now, isn't he?" Smith said. Enterprise nodded, and Smith continued, "Let's let him finish up with them, then we'll see about setting you up with yours. That leads into what we were talking about here. Have you given any thought as to what you're going to use to launch aircraft?"

"Sir?" Enterprise said, confused.

"Lieutenant, all aircraft carrier kanmusu launch aircraft by using ranged weapons. For example, Japanese carriers tend to prefer to use bows to launch their aircraft, but it is possible to use something else if you would prefer," Miyata explained.

"Is there any benefit to using something other than a bow?" Enterprise asked.

"I have heard reports from other kanmusu programs of carriers using other weapons, and as far as I know, there is no positive or negative to doing so. Faster firing weapons balance out their rate of fire by launching fewer planes per shot," Miyata explained.

"I think I may have something that you can use," Smith announced, then stood and walked over to the small supply closet in the wall of the office. Reaching inside, he pulled out a long flat object. He laid it on the desk. It was a rifle case. Enterprise instantly recognized the rifle Smith pulled out of it. "My grandfather carried this Springfield back in 1942, at a place called Guadalcanal," Smith said as he laid the M1903 Springfield rifle in front of Enterprise.

"I can't use this, sir, it's an heirloom," she protested.

"Please, I have no one to pass it on to, and all it's really doing is gathering dust in the bottom of my closet," Smith answered, "Plus, I'm certain that my granddaddy would be happy that his old gun is being used to defend this country once more." Enterprise reached over and carefully picked up the rifle and examined it. The stock was clean and glistened with the sheen of wood polish. There was no obvious dirt or grime on the action, and when she ran her finger down it, she could feel a light coating of grease. The only fault she could find with the rifle, was a two inch long gouge in the top of the forestock.

She pointed it out to Smith and he explained, "The way the story goes, that was caused by the bullet of a Japanese sniper. The fact that it deflected off the rifle saved my grandfather's life."

Enterprise nodded at that, then pulled the bolt back and bobbed her head over the action, ensuring that is was clear. Then she brought the bolt forward, shouldered the weapon, and pulled the trigger. The sear broke and the hammer came forward onto the empty chamber with a sharp _Click_.

"Very smooth sir," Enterprise complimented.

"Well, that rifle is probably the cleanest and best maintained piece in all of 3rd Fleet," Smith explained. Enterprise looked thoughtful for several seconds, slowly turning the rifle over in her hands. It was in beautiful condition,

She finally looked back up at Smith and said, "If you're certain that it is okay for me to use this."

"I would be honored if you would use that rifle lieutenant. Just make sure to keep it clean," Smith said.

"May I see that Miss Enterprise?" Miyata asked. She nodded, then handed the commander the rifle. He looked it over for several seconds, before passing it back. "This is a fine weapon Lieutenant Enterprise."

"If I remember correctly, you haven't fired for record yet," Smith commented.

"That's right, sir, I just completed the familiarization courses, but I just haven't had enough time to go fire for record yet," Enterprise said as she stuck the rifle back in its case. Smith reached into his desk and came back with a small box. Enterprise was a bit surprised to see that it was a box of .30-06 caliber ammunition.

"Here, take this, and when you're down at the range firing for record, you can put a few dozen rounds through the Springfield," Smith said.

"I will, sir, thank you, sir," Enterprise said as she stood up, rifle case in one hand ammo in the other.

"Now go on, I have a few more things to discuss with the commander here, and I would rather no waste your valuable time," Smith said, waving her out of his office. She was lucky and managed to flag down a passing jeep to take her to the island's rifle range. The seabees had built a full length range with covered firing positions and a full pit for target marking. Enterprise had only been out here for her small arms familiarization course, wherein she had the chance to fire a few rounds through the standard issue M16 rifle and M9 pistol.

The entrance to the range was guarded by a young looking seaman holding an M16 at shoulder arms. Enterprise knew that he was there to make sure no one tried to appropriate equipment without permission. Captain Smith wasn't worried about the equipment being stolen, only that certain personnel might perform reckless stunts if they had access to weapons and ammunition. As she approached the gate, she called, "Permission to enter the range?"

He took one look at her, deciding quickly that the base XO probably had legitimate business on the range, and replied, "Granted sir." He reached behind him and unclipped the length of chain that served as a gate. Enterprise nodded her thanks, and entered the range proper. It didn't take her long to find the range officer and explain to him what she wanted to do. He told her that there was already a group on the range firing for record, and that, if she wanted, he would be happy to let her tag along with them. When she told him that that would be fine, he pointed her at a set of benches and told her to wait while he sent a petty officer off to draw weapons for her to use.

When Enterprise got to the bench, she did a double take. Already sitting on the bench were the four _Fletcher_ sisters, obviously waiting their turns at the range. She could see that Fletcher and O'Bannon were having an animated discussion, and as she got closer, she could make out what they were talking about. "I'm telling you this new M16 is way better than the old Garand," Fletcher argued, shaking the rifle she was holding, "Select fire capability, a detachable magazine, and a comparable accuracy, if we had had these things back then, then we would have won the war in a matter of weeks."

O'Bannon countered, "Yeah, that's all great, but it doesn't negate the fact that this thing fires a tiny cartridge. You hit something with a .30-06, it's gonna go down and stay down. You hit something with the 5.56 from this thing, it may get back up and keep shooting."

Enterprise sat down next to Nicholas and leaned over and asked, "So, why're you guys here today?"

Nick leaned back and replied, "We were going to go down to Chief Zimmerman's shop to get weapons and rigging, but someone pointed out that none of us have qualified with small arms yet. So it was decided that before we were given five inch naval rifles, we had to be able to handle this thing first," she rattled the M16 in her hands.

Enterprise pointed to Fletcher and O'Bannon, "What are they arguing about?"

"Fletcher said that the M16 was a better weapon than the M1 Garand, and O'Bannon figured that she was wrong," Nick explained with a bit of a bored tone.

"Where did they learn so much about guns anyway?" Enterprise pondered.

"Who knows, all I know is that letting them argue about which gun is better is keeping them from demolishing the range," Nick replied.

"Well, I'm down here to fire myself, plus the Captain gave me a Springfield to use, then told me to try it out," Enterprise said.

At the mention of the Captain's Springfield, Fletcher turned over to look at Enterprise, and asked, "Captain gave you an Aught three? Can I see it?" Enterprise pulled the rifle from its case and held it up for Fletcher to examine. She looked at it for a second, then her eyes went wide. "Did the captain tell you where he got this?"

"He said that his grandfather carried it during the Battle of Guadalcanal," Enterprise supplied.

"Well then, that's a fine piece you got there, extremely rare," Fletcher remarked.

"Why, what's special about it?" Enterprise asked.

Fletcher pointed to a mark on the tip of the barrel and explained, "That's a star gauge Springfield. The barrel was made to a stricter set of tolerances, meaning that it is extremely accurate."

"How about that," Enterprise muttered. Before the conversation continued, the range officer came over and began the safety brief. After that they were allowed to move up to the range and begin firing for record.

Twenty minutes later Enterprise was able to qualify expert with both the rifle and pistol. Fletcher and Nicholas also made expert with both pistol and rifle. O'Bannon was only able to earn a sharpshooter rating for the pistol, but got expert with the rifle. Radford came away with a marksman rating for the pistol, and a sharpshooter rating for the rifle. All in all the five ship girls did well. If one took into account that none of them had even held a weapon before last week, then they did extremely well.

Enterprise watched as the destroyers left the range, probably heading down to Zimmerman's shop to claim their gear. She on the other hand, took out the Springfield and made her way back to the firing line. _I still can't believe that the captain gave me his grandfather's star gauged Springfield rifle for me to use in battle. He must really think a lot of me_, she thought idly as she began to put rounds downrange.

* * *

Captain Smith was sitting in his office reading a book when Chief Boggs stuck his head in. "Hey skipper, I got that report you asked for," he announced. Smith put the book on his desk and looked up at the chief.

"Can you give me the Reader's Digest version chief?" Smith asked.

Boggs quickly skimmed though the sheet of paper that he was holding then replied, "Sir, all of the girls are doing well training with their equipment. There have been no major problems or injuries as of yet. Commander Miyata says that they should be able to begin combat operations early next week."

"Good, that's about what I figured," said Smith. There was a knock at the door and Smith looked up to see Dakota peeking her head around Boggs. "What is it Dakota?" Smith asked. Dakota tried to squeeze around Boggs, but was unable to fit past the chief's large frame.

Finally, she gave up and quietly said, "Excuse me."

"Sorry little lady, didn't see you there," Boggs replied, then stepped aside to let Dakota through. She walked up to Smith's desk, then laid a manila envelope on it.

"That came in from the comm office a little while ago. It's marked urgent your eyes only sir," Dakota explained.

"Thank you Dakota," Smith said before opening the envelope.

"You're the battleship South Dakota aren't you?" Boggs asked, "I apologize that I never went down to the infirmary to greet you, but I was a bit busy at the time. I'm Master Chief Boggs by the way."

"That's right master chief, I'm South Dakota, but everyone around here seems to call me Dakota," she replied.

"If you don't mind me asking, but what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be out with the rest of the girls doing equipment training?" Boggs asked.

"She hasn't been cleared by the shrink for active duty yet, and she got bored hanging around the infirmary all day, so I made her my temporary yeoman," Smith explained without looking up from the document in his hands.

"That makes sense, though wouldn't that be a better job for a sailor?" Boggs asked.

"She gets experience with naval customs, and what's expected of her now that she's human," Smith clarified, "I'm thinking of giving the post to new ship girls that are having trouble adapting."

"That's not a bad idea skipper," Boggs said. Then turned to Dakota and asked, "So how are you fitting in around here?" Dakota was a little shocked by the chief's question.

"Fine, I guess," she replied, quietly.

"Well, if you ever need anything, my office is right down the hall," Boggs said, then clapped her on the back so hard that she staggered forward a step.

She gasped for air, then replied, "I'll be sure to do that master chief." Boggs simply chuckled at her response and gave her a friendly smile.

"Shit, you've got to be kidding me," Smith cursed, instantly gaining everyone's attention.

Boggs instantly dropped into a more serious tone and asked, "What is it captain?"  
"Apparently it has been decided that the continued use of Air Force transports to supply this base is too risky for their continued use. All Air Force transport flights are suspended for the indefinite future," Smith read from the message.

"How do they expect us to survive with no supplies or grub?" Boggs asked, incredulously.

"I'm not done yet chief, there's more: In order to continue supplying Naval Station Midway Island, the fast supply ship USNS _Arctic_ has been dispatched from Pearl Harbor with a full load of Marine Diesel, JP-10, and assorted dry stores," Smith continued to read.

"Tell me they didn't send a transport ship out alone from Pearl?" Boggs asked, shocked.

"Well, they did send along a single DDG as escort, but you know as well as I do that the Abyssals will attack any transport full of fuel and ammunition regardless of escort," Smith said, throwing the message onto the desk. "And the best part? According to this, the _Arctic_ left Pearl an hour ago."

"Who could be stupid enough to try and send a supply ship through Abyssals infested waters. Hell the way they go after supply transports, even a full carrier strike group wouldn't be enough to defend that thing," Boggs spat.

"Master Chief suffice to say, what I am about to say does not leave this room, that goes for you too Dakota," Smith said with a deadly serious tone. "Admiral Davies – he's my boss Dakota – said in a message that there are two distinct factions forming in the upper echelons of the Navy Department. One side thinks that the ship girls are the answer to all of our prayers, and should be given every possible support. The second... well the second thinks that this program is nothing but a waste of money that could be better used for constructing more conventional forces. I have a pretty good idea who is responsible for this, but for the sake of not being responsible for tarnishing the honor of a brother officer, let's just say that he's one of the high ups at 3rd fleet."

"But why would someone risk the safety of a multi-million dollar fast transport and a multi-billion dollar destroyer, just to make a point?" Boggs asked.

"It goes beyond making a point chief, someone wants us to tip our hand, show what we're capable of," Smith explained, "They know that the only way that those ships are going to be able to make it here safely, is if we send out an escort."

"So skipper, what do we do?" Boggs asked calmly. "Enterprise and the destroyers have only been practicing with their equipment for a week, Dakota here doesn't even have any equipment, and the new girls are still laid up in the infirmary."

Smith sat silent for several seconds, thinking, then answered, "We're going to have to show our hand chief, and I intend to be holding a full house." He then turned to Dakota and ordered, "Dakota, please go find Enterprise and the _Fletcher_s, tell them that they are to meet me in ten minutes in the War Room."

"Yes, sir," was all that Dakota replied, before she ran out of the room.

Smith looked over at Boggs and ordered, "Chief, I want you to find our local chopper jockey and tell him to have his bird moved up to alert status five. I want him ready to bounce the minute I send over the girls, I'll tell him which direction to fly later."

"Aye aye, skipper," Boggs said, then ran out himself.

"When I find out just exactly who is responsible for this, I'm going to rip them apart, superior rank be damned," Smith seethed to himself as he ran out of the office himself.

* * *

**Author's Note: **That's Chapter 4 done, again. I decided to re-write chapter 4 because of several reasons. Chief among them being that the first version ended too early. It was essential for the storyline for this chapter to end where it did. That being said, I have to admit that I never thought that this story would take off like it did, so I was a bit unprepared for the levels of reception that it has already gained (for me getting three likes an a review is big news), and I really didn't have much story potted out beyond this chapter and the next one. But I am working to fix that. This chapter is also a milestone in that I see it as the end of the world building chapters, all subsequent chapters will be action/character driven.

I am putting out a request for help. I need characters for later chapters. What I'm looking for are characters based on US ships. I already have plans in place for _Yorktown_, Essex_, _and _Casablanca _class girls. A whole handful of destroyers (including Taffy 3, because seriously who writes a story about the USN and doesn't include Taffy 3). I am particularly interested in ships that did interesting things during the war (eg. How the USS _Massachusetts _fought off a whole passel of Vichy French ships off Casablanca, or how the _Nautilus _performed the first submarine launched special forces operation in military history) so if anyone has a suggestion, please leave it in a review.

As always, if typos are found, please let me know so that they may be found and mercilessly hunted down and destroyed.

edited 7/8/15


	5. Chapter 5

**War Room, NS Midway Island, June, 19, 2018**

Nicholas always thought that the term "War Room" was a bit grandiose. The room had started out as a large conference room on the bottom floor of the main headquarters, and it was now a place to deliver mission briefings. The large conference table had been removed and replaced with several rows of seats. Enterprise had remarked that the room now looked very similar to a squadron ready room. Nicholas was sitting with her sisters in the front row, waiting for Smith to come in and explain why they had been summoned.

She was a bit surprised when Enterprise walked in and sat down in the row behind them. Fletcher leaned across O'Bannon to whisper to Nicholas, "This is the real deal."

"Why do you say that?" Nicholas asked in a whisper.

"Think about it, the captain has gathered all of the combat capable ships on the base in the briefing room. This can only mean he's planning a mission.

Radford, who was sitting opposite of Fletcher, spoke up, "Combat capable, we've only had a week of training."

Enterprise leaned up and told her, "That's more training than the first ship girls had when the started."

"I know," Radford replied with a sigh, "But I would have preferred at least a little more."

All further conversation was stopped when Smith entered the room, and Fletcher jumped to her feet with a cry of, "Attention on deck." It took the other girls a moment to remember what was expected of them before they too jumped to their feet.

Smith simply grunted, "As you were," and the girls retook their seats. He quickly turned on the room's projector and plugged it into a laptop. "I'll have to be quick about this, we don't have a lot of time. One hour ago this ship, the USNS _Arctic_, was dispatched from Pearl with the ultimate destination of this base," he tapped a key on the computer and a picture of a large cargo ship came up on the screen. "Now, as it stands, the _Arctic_, only has one escort, the USS _Halsey_, a Flight I _Burke_ class destroyer," he tapped the key again and the picture changed to that of a destroyer. "Your mission is to rendezvous with the _Arctic _and assist the _Halsey _in escorting her back to this base. The probability of her being attacked by the Abyssals is high, they friggin love to go after lightly armed transports," Smith detailed. "Any questions?"

Fletcher raised her hand, then asked, "How are we supposed to get out to the _Arctic_?"

"Good question," Smith replied, then brought up a map of the Pacific Ocean on the screen. "This is the last reported position of the _Arctic _via GPS," a dot appeared on the map just outside of the Hawaiian Islands. "We're going to fly you all out in the Seahawk. It just has the range to get out there with a few aux tanks strapped to the side, but it can't make it back. So it's going to land on the _Halsey_ and hitch a ride back," Smith explained. "If there are no further questions, then go over to the equipment yards and pick up your kits, and then meet me at Henderson to catch your ride," Smith ordered.

The five girls chorused, "Aye aye, sir."

It wasn't a long walk from the HQ to the equipment yard, really and old hangar given over for the purpose of storing ship girl weapons. Inside there were rows of storage lockers, each storing a particular ship's kit. Nicholas walked up to the one with her name on it, and yanked the door open. She removed the main pack and shrugged into its straps. The thing was a backpack version of her old number one funnel. Mounted to its front, and laying up her spine, was a smaller version of her mainmast, with its SC search radar antenna mounted on its top. To each side of the funnel were gun pits each containing a quad mount 40mm Bofors anti-aircraft guns.

Next she pulled out her two quintuple mount 21" torpedo tubes and strapped them to her thighs, and picked up her hand held 5"38 caliber main turret, throwing its web sling over her shoulder. A quick glance at her sisters confirmed that they were almost done donning their equipment. Navy uniform regs meant that they had to wear NWUs while on duty, but Smith had given them a little more leeway with their equipment. For example, O'Bannon had painted a shamrock on her funnel, just like she used to wear on her old stack, and each girl had been allowed to paint a miniaturized version of their combat ribbons and scoreboards on their funnels.

"You girls about done?" asked Enterprise, who had appeared in the door. Her equipment was a bit lighter than destroyer's. It consisted only of a version of her old hull strapped diagonally across her back, and two quad Bofors pits strapped to her hips. Nicholas saw that she was in the process of running a squeeze bottle full of gun oil over the action of her M1903, making absolutely certain that it was ready for combat. When she was done, she stuck the little, plastic bottle back in her locker, and took out the green ammo can with, ". 30-06 5-Round Stripper Clips, Various Aircraft," stenciled on the side. The can had originally said, "840 CRTG 5.56MM," but after Enterprise had stolen the empty can from the range, she had repainted it and re-stenciled it to prevent anyone from using her special rounds.

"I'm ready," Nicholas announced, throwing her boots over shoulders. The bulky things were what allowed her to sail at thirty plus knots over the surface of the water, but they were a pain to walk around in, so she decided she would put them on later.

"Let's go girls, we have a mission to complete," Enterprise said, slinging her rifle alongside her flight deck. The ship girls quickly made their way to Henderson Field, the island's main airstrip. When Nicholas walked out onto the parking apron, she could see that one of the base's two MH-60S utility helicopters had been pushed out of its hangar onto the apron. There was a flock of NWU clad ground crew personnel running around the thing making sure that it was ready to take off. There was something strange about the helicopter today. Hanging from a pair of stubby wings bolted to its flanks, were several bomb shaped auxiliary fuel tanks.

Her visual inspection of the thing was cut short when Captain Smith ran up to them and asked, "You girls ready?"

Enterprise replied, "We're ready to go, sir."

"Before you go, I have some more equipment for you," he unslung a backpack, lowered it to the ground, and then began to root around inside it. He came up holding a few small radios with attached headsets. "These are a bit better than your standard comms gear," he explained, handing over the radios. Then he brought out a stack of pistols in standard web holsters, "I don't think these need much explanation."

When Nicholas took her holster, she was a bit surprised to see that inside of it was a M1911 pistol, instead of the M9 she was expecting. "Chief Boggs found a stash of these in one of the old weapons lockers. He thought you might like to use something a bit more familiar," Smith explained.

"Cool," O'Bannon remarked, taking her pistol, "I always wanted to try one of these."

"Well, that's all I have, let's go get you in the chopper," Smith said, then walked towards the waiting helicopter. He waved to a man wearing a green flight suit and flight gear. "I don't know if you have had a chance to meet our resident chopper jock yet, but this is Lieutenant Commander Charles "Smokescreen" Walker," Smith explained. Walker was a tall blonde haired man with jovial features, and a smiling face.

"Well, I hope to give you girls a good flight today, we hope to take off in the next five minutes," he announced. "We're ready to load up skipper, just give me the word, and we can go," he said to Smith.

"Then what are you waiting for. We're on the clock," Smith said a bit indignantly.

"Aye aye, sir," Walker replied, then turned towards another man and yelled, "Spin it up chief, we're going now. If you ladies would please come with me, I'll get you settled in the back." He led them into the rear, passenger compartment, and helped them strap themselves into the seats. Ten minutes later the rotors were spinning furiously, and the helicopter was streaking away from Midway towards the USNS _Arctic_.

* * *

A few hours later Nicholas felt someone shaking her awake. She looked up to see Enterprise pointing to her headset. Nicholas plugged the thing in and heard Enterprise say, "The Commander says we're ten minutes out from the _Arctic_, get your desron ready_._" Nicholas nodded her understanding, then reached over to shake O'Bannon awake.

"Whazzat," O'Bannon grunted, then fell back to sleep. After several tries, Nicholas finally managed to wake the other destroyer. "Testing, testing, hello anyone on this thing?" O'Bannon said once she had managed to put on her headset.

"This is Commander Cramer aboard the _Halsey_, who is this?" answered a new voice. O'Bannon let out a little squeak of surprise, then shut up.

Enterprise answered, "That would be Seaman O'Bannon, commander, and she's one of mine."

"Good job O'Bannon, not five minutes into the mission, and you've already ticked off the brass. This has to be a record. By the way this is Seaman Fletcher, also one of Enterprise's," Fletcher said over her own radio.

"Seaman Radford here, sir, are we almost there?"

Next Walker broke into the channel, "This is your captain speaking, good to see that everyone is awake back there. We are about ten minutes out from the insertion point, get ready."

"Isn't the captain back at Midway?" Radford asked, the commander's joke passing right over her head.

"Right, forgot, can't make airline jokes for people who have never been on an airline," Walker muttered, then said in a louder voice, "_Halsey _reports that they are under attack by Abyssals right now, you'll have to land fighting. You wanna fill them in Cramer?"

Cramer came back on the line and explained, "We are currently engaged with four destroyer types. We can hold them off for now, but if they pick up their attacks any, we are going to be in a real bind."

"I think I understand the situation. Commander Walker, where are you going to put us down?" Enterprise asked.

"I'm going to drop this thing to the deck about a hundred yards off the _Arctic_. If I don't botch the approach, we should be about two feet of the water when we stop. All you have to do is step out the door," Walker replied.

"Sounds good, everyone, get ready to fight as soon as we hit surf," Enterprise said, then unslung her rifle. Nicholas watched as she removed a 5-round stripper clip from a web pouch on her flight deck, and loaded the rifle. Nicholas picked up her own 5" turret off the floor and checked to make sure it was loaded. The next thing she noticed was the feeling of her stomach dropping as the helicopter went into a dive. This persisted for several seconds, before the helicopter pulled out and tilted back into a hover.

"Looks like we're here, so everybody out," Walker said once all forward movement had stopped.

"I'll go first, then Nick and her desron," Enterprise said, standing up to yank the side door open. She walked up to the edge, and calmly stepped out. Nicholas was a little apprehensive at the thought of stepping out into thin air, but when she leaned out of the door, she saw that they were, in fact, only a few feet above the water. It was simple for her to jump out and land on her feet. She willed herself to start moving forward in order to give her sisters room to exit the helicopter. Off to her left, she could see the bulk of the _Arctic_ and the form of Enterprise raising her rifle to her shoulder.

Enterprise squeezed her trigger and the rifle bucked in her hands. A six plane vee of miniature Grumman F6F Hellcat fighters flew away from the muzzle, and began to climb away. _No matter how many times I've seen that in practice, I never get used to it_, Nicholas thought to herself.

"CAP away," Enterprise called over the radio, "Let's get an idea of what we're looking at here.

"Enterprise doing her Marine impersonation again?" asked O'Bannon, who had come up next to Nicholas while she was staring at Enterprise. Nicholas looked over to see that her sisters were now standing around her, waiting for orders.

But before she could say anything, they were all interrupted by Commander Walker calling over the radio, "_Halsey _this is Midway 1, we are now oscar mike, I repeat oscar mike. Requesting a nice place to put this bird down in about five minutes."

"Roger that Midway, tune over to channel five for my flight director, and Enterprise, our current knowledge of the enemy forces is three destroyers off our starboard bow, and two more to our port stern. We sunk the first four, so these are new. That kind of quick reinforcement means they're holding back to see what we can do, expect heavy enemy reinforcements at any time," Cramer reported.

"Acknowledged _Halsey_, I will relay anything my CAP picks back to you," Enterprise announced. She motored in a circle until she was standing in front of the destroyers. "I'm going to stay near the _Arctic _and provide support from the rear. Nick, you think your girls can take care of the two destroyers to the stern of the _Halsey_?"

Nicholas raised her turret in salute, then replied, "Absolutely."

"Then get to it," Enterprise said, waving them away. Nicholas turned and lead the three other destroyers towards where the _Halsey_ was maneuvering and firing like mad with her single Mk45 5" gun. The Abyssal destroyers in question soon became visible behind the large ship.

"Okay girls, volley fire, ready," Nicholas shouted, then raised her gun. When the other ships had lifted their guns Nicholas shouted, "Fire." The four guns barked as one, and four miniature 5" shells were sent hurtling towards the unsuspecting Abyssals. Of the four shots, one fell long, one short, and the remaining two found their marks, causing one of the enemy destroyers to explode with a greasy fireball.

O'Bannon let out a loud whoop of joy, then proclaimed over the radio, "Scratch one DD, let's go get another."

"Again, volley fire," Nicholas ordered. The four guns barked again, but this time the Abyssal knew that it was being fired at by something other than the _Halsey. _It managed to dodge just time time to miss the second volley. It then turned towards the four ship girls bearing down on it, and opened its jaw, exposing the 5" gun contained inside. A loud _crump_ and a sickly pall of black smoke was the only warning that Nicholas got that there was a shell headed towards her. Luckily it passed right over her head, the wind from its passing ruffling her hair. "Alright, that's it, keep firing in local control," Nicholas ordered, doing her best to maintain her composure. Commanding local control meant that she was giving permission for each of her destroyers to aim and fire their weapons individually. A third, staggered volley went out to meet the Abyssal. This time, all four shells struck the target, and sent a plume of spray towering into the sky. When it had dissipated, the Abyssal was left wallowing on its side, dead.

"Good hits, good hits," Fletcher cried.

"Cease fire, let's not waste ammo," Nicholas added. She then keyed her radio and said, "_Halsey_, this is Nicholas, report two DDs sunk. Your stern is clear."

"Acknowledged Nicholas, we just cleared out the three to our bow, there are no more hostiles to report on our scope at this time," Cramer replied.

"Well was that it? I don't know why we made a big deal out of this, but that was easy," O'Bannon remarked, accidentally keying her mic.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up just yet, CAP reports that there are six more destroyers entering the area. Two on the opposite side of the _Arctic_, two to the south, and two to the west," Enterprise announced over the radio, "I can deal with the two opposite _Arctic_, but I'll need someone else to deal with the rest."

Nicholas weighed several options in her head, before proposing, "Fletcher, Radford, can you tackle the ones to the south? Me and O'Bannon will get the ones to the west."

"No problem Nick, we're on it," Fletcher said with a thumbs up, "Come on Raddy, let's go get some more marks for our scoreboards."

As they steamed off, Nicholas heard Cramer call, "Acknowledged Enterprise, we are falling back to screen the _Arctic_'s port quarter."

"Well, it looks like it's just you and me Nick," O'Bannon remarked, "If you let me get one by myself, I'll let you get the other."

"Fine, but follow my lead. No showboating," Nicholas said.

"Me, showboat? Why I would never dream of it," O'Bannon replied jokingly, then tore off towards the west.

"Dammit O'Boat, wait for me," Nicholas called, steaming at full speed after the charging O'Bannon.

* * *

Enterprise was in her element. Eyes closed, she was listening to the reports from her pilots and thinking of a plan of action. She racked the bolt of her Springfield a few times to clear the remaining fighter bullets out of it, making sure to catch the ejected rounds before they fell into the water. Then she removed a second clip from her pouches, these cartridges colored light blue as opposed to the fighter's dark blue. She jacked a round into the chamber, and brought the rifle up, aiming at the two black smudges just visible on the opposite side of the _Arctic_. Releasing a half breath, she squeezed the trigger cleanly and sent a wave of Douglas SBD Dauntless dive bombers streaking towards the Abyssal destroyers.

As soon as they hit air, the little planes began to climb. They flew to a point right over the two destroyers, then nosed over in a dive, swiss cheese flaps visibly extended. Six black specks fell away from the bombers towards the destroyers. Four of them hit nothing, exploding harmlessly in the water. The other two scored direct hits against one of the destroyers, sinking it. _Two hits out of six, man I really need to work with my pilots on bomb accuracy_, Enterprise thought a little indignantly. The last destroyer turned its gun skyward, trying desperately to hit the fleeing dive bombers, but the planes were able to escape its attack.

Enterprise brought up her rifle again and launched a second wave of SBDs, ordering them to finish off the last destroyer. While her second wave of dive bombers was lining up for their bombing runs, Enterprise was busy recovering her first wave. She tilted her flight deck up to give the SBDs enough space to land. The little planes touched down, then disappeared as they rolled to a stop. She could feel one of her ammo pouches refilling as the planes turned back into bullets. She looked up just in time to see the last destroyer get pasted by her circling bombers. This time four of the squadron's six bombs found their marks. She smiled in triumph, then keyed her radio saying, "_Halsey_, this is Enterprise, _Arctic_'s flank is clear, repeat my two targets are sunk. How's everybody else doing?"

* * *

"Fletcher here, we are engaging our targets," Fletcher replied over the radio just before she fired a round from her five inch gun.

"They're really frisky today," Radford commented as she dodged an incoming shot.

"Something like that," Fletcher replied, then fired again. She was maintaining a rapid fire stream of shells at the pair of Abyssal destroyers. Not really trying to hit them, but rather suppress them long enough for Radford to close and put accurate shots into them. When she saw that Radford was within range, she yelled, "You ready?"

"Let's show these bastards what the HUK king is capable of," Radford yelled, a little uncharacteristically. They swapped roles, Radford began bombarding the Abyssals with fire, and Fletcher stopped and moved up. Radford was close enough now that she was able to hit one of the enemy destroyers with a pair of well timed shots. The thing staggered to a halt, then began to slowly capsize onto its back. It's companion took interest in its comrade's killer and turned to fire at Radford. That was all the distraction Fletcher needed to open up on it again herself. Now with fire pouring in from two sides, the thing had only moments to live.

Fletcher watched with horror as the thing, wallowing in its death throes, fired a shell towards Radford's position. Fletcher knew in her gut that this shot would fly true, so she did the only thing she could. She took a running leap at Radford and shoved her out of the way. The shell struck her on the side and sent a lance of pain through her body, and knocked her flat on her face. Radford let out a shout of shock, then ran over to Fletcher's side, and threw an arm around her sister's shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," Fletcher wheezed, "Just lemme walk it off." Fletcher shrugged off Radford's arm and shakily rose to her feet. Her eyes went wide and she pulled the M1911 pistol from her side and aimed it at something behind Radford. Radford whirled around to see the Abyssal destroyer that had hit Fletcher struggling to raise its gun in one final act of defiance. Fletcher's pistol barked twice, both rounds striking the Abyssal in the mouth. The thing was thrown backwards from the force of the impact, and when it came to a stop, it began to sink unmoving, finally dead. Radford looked back to Fletcher just in time to see her lurch forward and begin to fall again, but Radford was able to reach forward and catch her sister before she hit the water. "I think I'm gonna need that help after all," Fletcher said, coughing.

"Happy to help," Radford replied softly, then keyed her radio, "_Halsey_, Fletcher's been hit, she needs a doctor."

"How bad is she," came the worried voice of Enterprise.

"I don't know, she seems fine for now, though," Radford replied, "I can carry her back in myself."

"What is the status of your targets?" Cramer asked, bluntly.

"Both targets destroyed, we're clear for now," Radford replied.

"Very good, bring Fletcher to the _Halsey_, we'll have the doc standing by," Cramer ordered.

"Be there in a second," Radford replied, then shifted her arms around Fletcher to get a better grip. "Hold on for just a little longer, we'll have you home in no time." She waited for a response, but it never came, Fletcher was out cold.

* * *

"I hope these two are as easy to get as the first ones," O'Bannon remarked idly as she and Nicholas skated across the water towards their targets.

"Don't say that out loud, you'll jinx us." Nicholas shot back.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you believe in that crap," O'Bannon said.

"Hush, I see the targets," Nicholas cut her off, holding up a hand and pointing at the pair of black forms in the distance. "Estimate range two hundred yards, and target bearing is 30 degrees. Start with fifteen degrees elevation, plus 5 traverse," she quickly calculated. Bringing her gun up, she called, "Match pointers," and went through the aiming process. When it was done, she called, "Ready."

"Ready," O'Bannon replied.

"Fire," two muzzles flashed, and two 5" projectiles were simultaneously sent hurtling downrange. Nicholas watched as the shells passed above the Abyssals be mere inches. "Shift down two, same traverse," she quickly corrected, "Match pointers."

"Down two," O'Bannon replied, "Ready."

"Fire," this time the shells were right on target. Each struck a separate enemy, causing massive damage. The Abyssals tried to fire back, but the shell hits had thrown off their aim. Their shells fell more than a hundred yards off to Nicholas' left. "Repeat fire," Nicholas called, and the guns barked for a third time. When the shells landed, there wasn't much left for them to hit, the Abyssal destroyers had already begun to sink. "We're clear here," Nicolas announced over the radio, "Any additional contacts."

"Negative, we don't see anything else, but that's not saying much, our sensors are a little hit or miss when it comes to tracking these things," replied Cramer.

"CAP reports clear waters," Enterprise added, "Nick, I don't know if you heard, Fletcher got hit. Radford is taking her to the _Halsey_ for first aid, but you might want to go see her."

"Thank you for relaying that, I'll be over there in a second," Nicholas replied. But before she could say anything else, O'Bannon put a hand on her shoulder and pointed at something behind her. She turned to see what it was, and cursed. "Where the hell did that thing come from?"

"I don't know, it just rose out of the water behind us," O'Bannon replied, eyes wide.

"_Halsey_, Enterprise, we just had an Abyssal cruiser come up behind us," Nicholas reported.

"Nicholas, do you know what type it is," Cramer asked, a note of concern in his voice.

"Negative _Halsey_, only that it's one of the ones that look sort of human," Nicholas replied.

"Most likely that is the enemy's flagship. Take her out and we will be clear of attacks all the way to Midway. If she gets away, then she will come back with an even bigger force to attack us," Cramer said.

"Try to stay away from it for awhile, I'm sending an airstrike over," Enterprise added. Nicholas looked over at the Abyssal cruiser. It appeared to be ignoring the two ship girls, focusing its attention on the _Arctic_ in the distance. Its head, and its turrets, were trained on the venerable supply ship.

Nicholas made a quick decision, "We are the only ones that can stop this thing."

"How?" O'Bannon said, skeptically, "It looks like one of the light cruiser types, which mean that those are six inch guns in those turrets. It will tear us to pieces if we try to get close."

"We've got to keep it away from the _Arctic_ until Enterprise's planes can get here," Nicholas answered.

"Then do you want to try a little misdirection?" O'Bannon asked.

"What do you mean?" Nicholas asked, not understanding.

"Oh, just a little tactical use of smoke," O'Bannon replied, then detailed her plan to Nicholas. A few minutes later they were ready to execute it. Nicholas began to dump raw fuel oil into her funnel, causing a thick, black plume of smoke to stream from its top. She continued to steam forward, leaving a trail of smoke as she went. This had two effects, one, it allowed O'Bannon to disappear into it, and two, it immediately drew the attention of the cruiser to Nicholas. It slowly turned its bulk towards her, bringing the gun turrets to its sides to bear on the American destroyer.

"That's right, keep looking at me," Nicholas muttered as she began to fire at the thing. Her 5" shells had little effect against the heavier armored ship, but were just enough to keep it focused on her. It fired back, but didn't have the range, its shots falling short. Nicholas immediately doubled back into her own smoke, concealing herself from return fire for a second. Then she popped back out just long enough to fire at it again. "Keep looking at me," she repeated softly as she continued this tactic of fire and hide. On one of the passes, a return shot grazed Nicholas' arm, creating a two inch gouge in her skin and a bolt of pain. She quickly ducked back into concealment, nursing the fresh wound.

She finally came out for good when she heard O'Bannon whisper, "Ready," over the radio. Nicholas watched as O'Bannon appeared out of the smoke behind the cruiser.

"Shoulda been looking at her," Nicholas announced triumphantly.

O'Bannon yelled at the top of her lungs, "Here, catch," and threw something at the cruiser. Out of reflex it reached up to catch what O'Bannon had tossed at it. It looked at whatever it had caught for several seconds, before looking back at O'Bannon.

O'Bannon raised a finger pointed at the sky, then slowly pointed at the sea. The Abyssal jerked with panic as it caught sight of what Nicholas had already seen, the ten bubble trails from the ten Mk 15 21" torpedoes already in the water. The cruiser tried to dodge out of the way, but it was too late. At least six of the things hit its side, their explosions throwing towering geysers of spray into the air. When the columns of spume dissipated, there was nothing left of the Abyssal but a rapidly growing black stain on the ocean's surface. "We just sunk a cruiser," O'Bannon shouted over the radio with a whoop of joy.

"What? Can you repeat that please?" came the dumbfounded response from Cramer.

"Report, we have sunk one enemy cruiser with a salvo of torpedoes. It has been sunk," Nicholas added.

"My fighters confirm it, the cruiser has been sunk. Good job Nick," Enterprise praised.

"Hey, I was the one who fired the torps," O'Bannon interjected.

"Then, if all contacts have been destroyed, you are free to come aboard the _Halsey _for a hot meal and a clean rack," Cramer informed them.

"Right now that sounds wonderful commander, we'll be there in a few minutes," Nicholas said.

"I will be along just as soon as I recover my planes," Enterprise said. O'Bannon sailed up to Nicholas' side and they began to sail back to the big destroyer. As they went, Nicholas asked, "Just out of curiosity, what was it you threw at that thing?"

O'Bannon reached into her pocket and pulled out something, tossing it at Nicholas she said, "Just this. Stole a couple from the mess before we left" Nicholas looked down at what she had caught, and laughed. In her hands was a raw potato. "If we have to fight these things, we might as well remember out histories as we do it," O'Bannon explained, "And there is one incident that sticks out rather well in my memories."

Nicholas chuckled, "O'Bannon, I can't tell sometimes if you are a genius, or crazy as a moon bat."

"Why can't I be both?" O'Bannon asked, her tone completely serious. Nicholas only replied with a new round of laughter.

* * *

Captain Smith was standing at the end of the main pier expectantly waiting for the _Arctic _and the _Halsey _to pull into the lagoon. Standing with him were Chiefs Boggs and Zimmerman, Commander Miyata, and pretty much the entire staff of NS Midway Island. There was an air of anticipation in the air as the big ships drew closer. Everyone had heard the reports of the outcome of the battle, and were waiting to congratulate the girls who were responsible.

The _Halsey _was in the lead of the little flotilla, and, as they drew close to Midway's barrier reef, she pulled to the side in order to let the _Arctic _enter the lagoon first. Smith almost missed as four forms jumped off the _Halsey_'s fantail, and sailed over to the _Arctic. _There was a flurry of pointing and questions as everyone caught sight of the victorious ship girls. They led the big supply ship into the lagoon to a raucous cheer from the assembled personnel. Finally, Chief Boggs had to bellow, "Alright, you buncha lunatics, clear out so the yard gang can get her tied up." That had the desired effect, quickly the personnel began to move off the dock in order to let the teams of line handlers and yard workers take care of lashing the _Arctic _to the pier.

Everyone was so focused on the _Arctic_ that they almost missed as the _Halsey _entered the lagoon. But were soon reminded when the destroyer let out a long, joyous blast from its horn, eliciting a new round of cheering. Smith watched quietly as Enterprise detached herself from the other girls, and sailed in front of where he was standing. She delivered a stiff salute and said, "Sir, I would like to report the successful completion of our mission."

Smith returned her salute and asked, "I expect a full report later, but right now, what are your injuries? I don't see Fletcher with you"

"Sir, Fletcher took a direct hit from what we think was a five inch shell. Her equipment took the brunt of the impact, but the explosion broke her left arm," Enterprise replied, "Funny thing is she managed to fire her sidearm twice after it broke. Stopped an Abyssal from hitting Radford at close range." Smith winced in sympathy, he had no idea what trying to absorb the recoil from a pistol with a broken arm felt like, but he assumed it would be excruciating.

"Where is she now?" he asked.

"When Radford carried her aboard the _Halsey_, she had passed out from the pain. The doc there reset her arm and put it into a splint. She's still in the sickbay sleeping off a tranquilizer," Enterprise replied.

"I'll tell our doc to send someone around to collect her, and that she will need a cast for that arm," Smith said, "Were there any other casualties?"

"No, sir – wait, Nicholas was grazed by an enemy shell. Did little more than give her a nasty cut. Corpsman bandaged that up already," Enterprise remembered.

"Well, you girls did an outstanding job out there, I expect a full report later, but right now you have all earned a rest. Go take the rest of today and tomorrow off," Smith ordered.

"But sir, we had plenty of rest on the _Halsey_," Enterprise protested.

Smith raised a hand and replied, "The base will still be here in two days. You have earned a rest, take it. Do I have to make it an order?"

"No, sir, thank you, sir," Enterprise said.

"Go, help the Destroyers to the showers, I'll have some food sent to your rooms when you're done," Smith said. Enterprise nodded, then turned back towards the rest of the girls. They sailed off towards the old seaplane ramp, which had been re-purposed as a place for ship girls to enter and exit the Smith made his way back towards the HQ, he thought, _If your out there watching us Abyssals, you better take note, because the US Navy has just taken a major step towards ensuring your destruction._

* * *

Author's Note: Well wasn't that a wild ride? It certainly was for me. Thus ends the American girl's first baptism by fire. Now that I've got the first main action chapter out of the way, expect the next one to be mostly new character introductions.

And to answer the question that has been asked more times than I can count, yes I have seen Morgane's Pacific artwork. The Enterprise in this story is basically the same one as hers, just with a rifle instead of a bow. I will be basing further characters off of those in that book.

And seeing that I will never remember to PM everyone(and I can't PM guests) I will answer reviews now, and in every subsequent chapter.

Thorthemighty321: Yes I do intend to introduce a girl in the future based on the USS _Walker_ from Mr. Anderson's works.

SulliMike23: Taffy 3 is going to be fun to do because there are a dozen different ways to spin their characters. I intend to introduce a few familiar characters in the next chapter, and expect one of the Taffy 3 girls to play a major part in coming plotlines.

c0dy88: It is amazing how many people forget that Taffy 3 was originally an escort carrier task force, not a destroyer flotilla. I already have plans for _Samuel B. Roberts_, _Gambier Bay_, _White Plains, _and _St. Lo_, and expect more in the future.

FrancisJames: Thanks for the comment, I answered that one because you're not the first person to ask that.

hfdt123: Yes I do. In some of my earlier stories I could be persuaded to write a new chapter just by getting one review. So if you want to keep seeing new chapters, keep giving me feedback.

Jedii: Here's the update, hope you like it.

Wolfman-053: Thanks for the suggestion, I went and read up on the Blue Ghost, and I think she would make a great character.

Potato slayer: I love you suggestions for the _Iowa_ sisters, and I will probably steal some of them in the future. But before I bring them in, I have to figure out the museum ship problem. Its easy to get around with the _Iowa_s but it might be tricky in the future.

Guest: Thank you for the comment, keep sending me feedback and I'll try to keep chapters coming.

Thanks to everyone for reviews, and I'll go work on the next chapter now.

edited 07/8/15


	6. Chapter 6

**NS Midway Island, June 21, 2018**

The first thing Fletcher became aware of when she came to was a pounding, throbbing sensation in her head. It was completely unlike anything that she had every felt before upon waking. She tried to remember what had happened to her before waking up here, but the only thing she remembered was being hit by that Abyssal shell and the stab of pain that it had sent through her body. _Wait, I also remember firing that pistol at the bastard who shot me_. She became acutely aware of something else, her left arm was completely numb, and it had some thing wrapped around it. When she poked at the wrapping, she found that it was rock hard. _What the hell is this_, she thought as she tried to move the arm. To her surprise, she found that the arm was pinned against her chest by a cloth and strap arrangement.

She reached up with her free arm trying to take the thing off. She could feel a buckle of some sort on the part of the strap lying against her back. _What is it with people here making things so complicate__d_, she though as she fumbled with it.

"Hold on a minute there Fletcher," she looked up to see Captain Smith standing in the door of the room, a look of concern on his face.

"Sir, what is this?" Fletcher asked, nodding at the immobilized arm.

"That shell you took broke your arm. The docs reset it and put it in a cast so it could heal," Smith explained walking over to her bedside. Fletcher nodded and continued to work on the buckle. Smith saw what she was doing and said, "Wait a minute, leave that alone. In order for the bone to heal, the arm has to be immobilized.." Fletcher grunted, then puller her arm out from behind her.

"Fine, I guess," she said, dejectedly, "How long will I have to leave this thing on?"

"The sling? Just a few days, but the cast will have to stay on for at st least three weeks, possibly more," Smith replied.

"Three weeks," Fletcher exclaimed, "From one hit?" _Back then_ _I could have taken several hits __just__ like that __one __and kept fighting, __but now just one will lay me up?_

"You have to remember, you're human now, and humans don't fight well with broken limbs. You'll have to wait for it to heal," Smith said while he sat down on the bedside.

"But three weeks sir, isn't that a bit much?" Fletcher asked.

"I didn't say you had to be completely bedridden for that time, it is only a broken arm after all, but you will be on limited duty," Smith replied.

"What am I supposed to be doing while my sisters are out fighting?" Fletcher asked indignantly.

"We have a whole passel of new destroyers getting ready to go into basic, they need instructors and mentors. I think that you could handle that," Smith offered.

"Fine, but as soon as this thing," she placed a hand on the sling, "comes off, I want to go right back into the fight."

"I know how it feels to be laid up for a long time Fletcher, if you need to talk about anything, I'm here for you," Smith said.

"I'm fine sir, no problems," Fletcher replied levelly.

"Fair enough. And before I forget, this is yours," Smith reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a black, oblong box. Handing it to Fletcher he explained, "In recognition of wounds received while in combat in the vicinity of the USNS _Arctic_, I am happy to present the award of the Purple Heart to Petty Officer 3rd Class Fletcher."

Fletcher took the medal from Smith and looked at it for several seconds before realizing something, "Petty Officer 3rd Class?"

"Oh did I forget to mention," Smith unfolded a sheet of paper from his pocket and read, "Seaman Apprentice Fletcher is hereby advanced in grade to that of Petty Officer 3rd class so that she may take over duties as the second in command of DesRon 21." Fletcher looked up a Smith with a look of disbelief in her eyes. "Don't get too excited though, Nicholas has been advanced to Petty Officer 1st and is your new boss. O'Bannon and Radford are now have full Seaman grade and are the first members of DesRon 21," Smith continued.

"Sir, I don't know what to say," Fletcher muttered as she turned the medal over in her hand.

"Well let me say this, you did an amazing job out there Fletcher. Rest up, recover, then you will go right out again," Smith said, standing up and placing a hand on Fletcher's shoulder. He walked to the door then turned back, "There's someone here who wants to see you, would you mind?"

"Not at all," Fletcher said softly. Smith nodded then left. Fletcher only had seconds to identify the visitor as Radford, before a 5 foot blur of destroyer ran into the room and grabbed Fletcher in a hug.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," babbled Radford as she had to visibly hold back tears.

"What are you sorry for, I was the one who got hit," Fletcher said softly.

"I know but you only got hit because you shoved me out of the way. I should have been paying more attention," Radford said.

"You couldn't have know, I didn't know," Fletcher comforted. "I wish I had taken the hit differently though."

Radford stood up and looked at Fletcher, "I haven't known you like this for long, but I know that there's something bothering you, what is it?"

_Do I tell her? Tell her that I have to be laid up for three weeks? _Fletcher let out a loud sigh, then answered, "Skipper tells me that this injury, will keep me out of action for three weeks or more."

"That's good," Radford said, "At least there won't be any permanent damage." Fletcher gave her a look and Radford added, "What?"

"Three weeks Radford, I have to stay on the island for three weeks. That's three weeks that I can't help you, Nick, and O'Bannon with this war," Fletcher explained dejectedly.

"But then in three weeks you can come back and fight," Radford said, "What's the problem with that?"

"That was the damage from one hit Radford, one hit. Back when I was a destroyer it would have taken only a few hours to repair the damage from one hit," Fletcher said, eyes downcast, "If these new forms can be knocked out by taking that little damage, what good are they?"

"If you were still a ship could you feel the sea breeze whipping through your hair when you are out on patrol?" Radford asked suddenly.

"Well no of course not," Fletcher replied confused, "But I don't see..."

Radford cut her off, "Could you have felt the determination when we vowed together to get the best fitness scores on the base, or feel the satisfaction as we did it?"

"No, but..."

"How about being able to enjoy the taste of a freshly grilled hamburger on a cool summer night?"

"I don't see..."

"Could you have been able to look in your sister's eyes and know that she would give everything to keep you safe," Radford continued heedless of Fletcher's protests, "And know that she was thinking the same thing about you?"

"But what does any of that have to do with being able to fight?" Fletcher finally managed to say.

"Life isn't all about combat and fighting the enemy," Radford pointed out.

"But it's what we're here for, what we were built for," Fletcher protested.

"Maybe once, but not anymore," Radford announced, "You can still fight just as hard now as you did back then, but you also get to experience being human while doing it. So what if you have to put up with being a bit more squishy. Chief Zimmerman says that our equipment will take all of the damage when we get hit, and you only broke that arm because of the way you took that shot."

"I guess," Fletcher sighed.

"Could you have earned that if you were still a ship," Radford continued, pointing at the Purple Heart still clenched in Fletcher's hands.

"No I couldn't have," Fletcher admitted.

"Here," Radford said pulling something out form behind her back, "Captain says we got a crate of these on the _Arctic _and he's giving them out to all the experienced girls." When Fletcher took it she could see that it was a large rectangular object made of glass and plastic.

"What is this?" she asked after turning it over in her hands several times.

"It's a tablet computer, think of it as a book that can pull up any information you can think of," Radford explained. "Here," she said, taking it from Fletcher and turning it on. When she handed it back, Fletcher saw that on the screen was a picture that hadn't been there a second ago. It took Fletcher several seconds to realize that she was looking at an old black and white photo of a _Fletcher_ class destroyer charging through the water. Then she noticed something about the ship, painted on its bow was the number 445.

"Is this me," Fletcher asked so softly that Radford could barely hear it.

"That was you," Radford corrected, then tapped on the screen, "This is you." Fletcher saw that the picture displayed had changed. Replacing the destroyer was a simple picture of her four sisters standing in front of a building. Nicholas was wearing her usual stoic smile, O'Bannon her ever present shit-eating grin, and Radford had a look of pure happiness, leaning against Fletcher's side. After a moment Fletcher remembered when they had taken that photo, it was right after they had arrived here, and Smith had taken the picture to commemorate their first day.

Fletcher looked up at Radford, blinking tears out of her eyes, "Thank you," was all she could say.

"I'm your sister, your twin, looking out for you is my job. And I can finally do that job now that we're human, so don't you dare tell me that being human is a bad thing," Radford said placing a finger on Fletcher's forehead.

_Maybe she is right, maybe being human isn't so bad after all_, Fletcher thought as she leaned up in her bed to give her sister a one-armed hug.

Smith, unseen just outside the door, smiled to himself at the scene. _They really are sisters in every sense_, he thought. He had suspected Fletcher might fall into depression upon learning that she couldn't fight to protect her sisters for several weeks, and there was no way she would open up to her CO about it. That was just how she was, the ever disciplined soldier. So he had arranged for Radford to be in the vicinity when she woke up, hoping events would fold out just like they had. As he walked away he reached a hand up to wipe away the moisture that was forming in his good eye. _Damn these allergies_.

* * *

"Captain, could I talk to you for a minute?" announced Nicholas as she stuck her head into the commander's officer. Smith was in the process of reading a comms message and held up a hand to indicate that he was busy.

"Interesting," he grunted as he finished and replaced the sheet of paper on his desk.

"May I ask what that was?" Nicholas asked as she walked up to his desk.

"Just a bit of traffic from 3rd Fleet HQ, with an addendum by Admiral Davies," Smith replied, "Apparently when the CNO got word of their little stunt with the _Arctic, _he was not pleased. Davies says that 3rd Fleet is now in full time CYA mode."

"CYA?" Nicholas asked, not familiar with the acronym.

"Cover your ass, you know passing the buck. Well anyway, right now there are so many fingers being pointed in 3rd Fleet that the CNO has no idea who is actually responsible. So, for now, he's holding off on disciplinary action," Smith explained, "But on a better note, it has been decided that sending the _Arctic _and the _Halsey_ back to Pearl would be to risky, so they're gonna stay here for the time being."

"Sir we would be happy to escort them back to Pearl," Nicholas interjected.

"I know you would, but it doesn't have anything to do with escorts. The CNO is, effectively, letting us hold the ships hostage until whoever is responsible for this little shit storm fesses up," Smith replied.

"Why did they think it would be a good idea to try that?" Nicholas asked.

"They were trying to make us jump before we were ready, display to the world, and SecNav, that we weren't worth the taxpayers dollar. But now that we have proven them wrong, expect a lot more escort missions in the future," Smith said.

"Sir?" Nicholas asked.

"One of the long term goals of this program is the re-opening of the shipping lanes. Finally letting the free flow of maritime commerce begin again," Smith clarified, "Now that you've listened to me rant for ten minutes, what did you want to see me about?"

"Sir, I wish to report on the recent battle," Nicholas announced.

"Nicholas, when I said that you have a few days off for recuperative leave, I wasn't joking," Smith chided.

"But sir, I already typed it up, I just wanted to deliver it to you," Nicholas said pulling a sheet of paper out from behind her back.

Smith took it from her then asked, "When did you have time to work on this?"

"I left my computer on the helo. Wrote that up as soon as I had time," she replied.

"Has anyone told you yet that you would make a good chief?" Smith asked rhetorically, "Which reminds me..." Smith trailed off as he dug around in a desk drawer, finally coming up with a sheet of paper, "Petty Officer 1st Class Nicholas, you are hereby assigned as commander, DesRon 21."

"DesRon 21?" Nicholas said, confused, "Isn't that unit still in service?"

"It is, but to lessen confusion for new girls, we're gonna try assigning them to their historic units. We will be using different nomenclature only on paper," Smith explained, "Plus if it confuses some of the paper pushers over at 3rd Fleet... well their loss."

"Sir, is there anything else?" Nicholas asked.

"Nope, have a nice rest PO," Smith replied picking up the report. Nicholas came to attention, did a textbook about face, and marched out of the office. Smith got all of five minutes to start reading the report before he heard a knock on his door.

"Come in," he said loudly.

"You wanted to see me?" he looked up to see Enterprise standing in the door.

Smith looked down at his watch and commented, "It's 1000 already, where does the time go. Yes, lieutenant, I wanted to see you. I know you are on leave, but I have a little public relations mater to take care of."

"What is it," she said, walking into the office.

"We have a couple of new carriers on base, and I need some help running them through the range so they can pick out their weapons," Smith explained standing up from his chair.

"New carriers?" she asked excitedly, "Do you know who they are?"

"Unfortunately not," Smith replied, "Dr. Richter has been doing a good job of running that toy of his, just not so good of a job of filling out paperwork. I have no idea who is on my base right now."

"If you want, I could get everyone to come in and fill out personnel files," Enterprise offered.

"That's okay, I have a plan for that, but I'm going to deal with it later. Right now we have a range to visit. You haven't seen the new carrier range, have you?" Smith asked as he led Enterprise out of the building.

"No, I haven't," she replied, "I've been meaning to, but with the recuperative leave and all..."

"Rodger, well it looks pretty nice. Construction team really outdid themselves this time," Smith commented as he walked to a green humvee parked outside of the HQ. He held the door open for Enterprise, then got behind the wheel. The humvee bounced into the range a few minutes later. It was a small fenced off spit of land right on the coast of the lagoon. A row of shooting stations had been set up facing out into the water, and just visible in the distance were several wooden poles sunk into the shallow bottom of the lagoon. At the top of the poles were several white painted steel plates. The idea had been that target boats could be dragged out into the water using pulleys attached to the bottoms of the poles, and the ship girls could engage them at range. These poles were actually shared with the destroyer and cruiser range a little further down the coast.

"So when are these new carriers supposed to get here?" Enterprise asked as she slammed the door shut.

"I dunno, I told them to meet me here at 1030, and it's just now 1020. So, any minute," Smith replied walking to the back of the humvee. "Here help me with these would you?" he asked popping the tailgate up and revealing a stack of plastic rifle cases. Enterprise nodded then carried an armload of the things over to a low shooter's table set up just inside the range proper. Smith began to undo latches and lay out weapons on the table.

"Where did you get these?" Enterprise asked, taking a M1 Garand rifle out of a case.

"I sent in a requisition a few weeks ago for some WWII era weapons to be purchased from the civilian market, thought that it would be easier for transition purposes. Well, the admiral finally managed to get a pallet of these shipped out to us. These were on the _Arctic_," Smith said, laying down an M1 Carbine.

"Excuse me, this wouldn't happen to be the carrier range, would it?" Smith whirled around to see a woman standing at the gate. She looked old for a ship girl, mid to late twenties by appearance alone. She had a petite frame, a little over five feet, and a trim figure. Her sandy blonde hair was worn short, and she met Smith's gaze with a pair of intelligent brown eyes. Smith was a bit surprised to see that she was wearing khakis, most of the girls preferred to wear either NWUs or utilities.

"That's right, I'm Captain Smith the base CO, and you would be?" Smith asked, offering her his hand.

She took it with a firm grip and replied, "Langley, CV-1."

"Well Ms. Langley, you are right on time, this is Lieutenant Enterprise, my exec," Smith said pointed to Enterprise, still at the table.

"Hello little Enterprise," she said walking up to the taller carrier, "I've heard so many stories about you."

"Stories about me?" Enterprise replied confused.

"From the sailors on this base, they say you had quite the record back in the old war," Langley clarified, "I always knew that you _Yorktown_'s would grow up to be good ships."

"You were watching us?" Enterprise remarked, disbelieving.

"They stole some of my pilots for _Yorktown_'s first crew, and my old captain was a rather talkative man, who liked to ramble on for hours about how the other carriers in the fleet were doing. Even after I was sent to the Asiatic station," Langley said with a smile.

A new voice called out from the gate, "Sorry we're late, but missy here got lost again."

"I told you, that wasn't my fault," retorted a second voice, then said in a much quieter tone, "I just didn't know where we needed to go." Smith looked over at the two girls standing at the gate. They shared a familial resemblance with each other, both being about twenty, and were both about six feet tall. They were both wearing plain blue utility coveralls with khaki fore-and-aft caps. Something about these girls tickled at the back of his mind, but he suppressed it for now.

"You're not that late," Smith called back, "I'm Captain Smith commander of this base." The first one walked up, she had long black hair worn free around her shoulders, and icy blue eyes.

"USS _Yorktown_, CV-5, reporting for duty," she said with a salute that wasn't quite textbook.

"Hey wait for me," the second girl said as she ran up and skidded to a halt in front of Smith. "USS _Hornet_, CV-8, when do we get to go," she said, then tried to copy her sister's salute, but it was even sloppier. Hornet's hair was blonde and tied up in a low braid. Her brown eyes stared out at Smith from under a pair of thin glasses perched on her nose. Smith raised his arm, and returned the girl's salutes.

"My I present Ms. Langley," Smith said, pointing to the older carrier, "And my XO, Lieutenant Enterprise." Every eye on the range turned to look at Enterprise, who was was wearing an overwhelmed expression on her face. Smith finally made the connection that had thought of earlier. These girls looked like Enterprise, they all shared the same build and facial features.

Hornet was the first to recover, she bounded past Smith and grabbed her new sister in a tight embrace, "It's so good to see you again, and you look so good like this, just like I would have you would have. I had no idea you were here, we would have come sooner if we had, but we just got out of training. What are you doing here anyway..."

"Can't breath," Enterprise gasped over Hornet's rambling.

"Don't smother the poor girl," said Langley as she stepped in pulling Hornet away from Enterprise with little trouble. She held the enthusiastic carrier back to let Enterprise catch her breath.

Yorktown walked up and stuck out her hand, "It's good to see ya again little sis, how have ya been?"

Enterprise took the proffered hand in her own then replied, "I've done alright, I guess," a note of emotion creeping into her voice.

"Alright? You're the XO of this base, and a lieutenant. You've done better than alright sis," Yorktown said with a snort.

"How did that happen anyway?" asked Hornet, finally breaking free of Langley's restraining arm.

Smith stepped in and explained, "She was the first ship we brought back. I made her my XO so that she could offer a more me a more unique perspective on the ship girls."

"So you were the first one back? I guess that makes sense, you were always the best one of us," Hornet claimed.

"That's not true," Enterprise interjected, "I was just never knocked out."

"Girls why don't we give poor Enterprise some space, we did come down here for a specific reason after all," Langley announced, changing the subject.

"That's right," Smith jumped in, "If you would all please come all here, we have a selection of weapons for you to choose from."

"What's this stuff for?" Yorktown asked.

"When in battle, you use a rifle to launch your planes," Enterprise explained, "It really doesn't matter what type of rifle, so you get to pick what you would like." Smith moved to the table and picked up one of the Garands.

"This is the M1 Garand rifle, it fires off eight .30-06 caliber rounds from an en-bloc clip semi-automatically," he explained.

"Looks like a mickey mouse piece of shit," Yorktown stated, "You got a Springfield in that pile of novelty toys?"

Before Smith could reply she was slapped on the back of the head by Langley, "You watch your mouth young lady."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Yorktown apologized.

Smith had to keep from chuckling as he replied, "Yeah, we got some Springfields. You want a standard or an A3?"

"A3," Yorktown replied, "Heard many a Marine in my old company complain about the sights on the standard." Smith nodded then tossed her the rifle in question, which she caught with ease. She turned the piece over in her hand and nodded her approval.

"Alright then, do the rest of you have a preference, or do I just go down the table?" Smith asked once he was sure Yorktown was satisfied.

"Do you have something a bit, lighter?" Hornet asked after looking at Yorktown's new rifle. Smith thought for a second before picking a different weapon up.

"This is an M1 Carbine, it fires a .30 caliber carbine cartridge from a 15 round detachable magazine," he explained.

"Looks even shittier than the Garand," Yorktown commented, before being smacked again by Langley, "Ow, okay sorry."

"I think it looks kind of cute," Hornet exclaimed, "I'll take it." Smith tossed her the carbine.

"What about you Ms. Langley, do you have a preference?" Smith asked.

"No, I'm afraid not. Could I just look at them and pick that way?" she asked.

"That would be fine," Smith replied, stepping out of the way to let Langley get to the table. She moved down it, lifting rifles as she went.

She finally came to a stop holding a particular rifle, "What's this captain?"

Smith looked at the rifle and grinned, "I just knew you'd pick that one. It's a Winchester 1873 lever action." Smith picked up the rifle and cycled the action to demonstrate it, then dry snapped it and handed it to Langley.

"I like it," said Langley as she took the piece.

"So, do we get to put some rounds through these?" asked Yorktown as she walked back up to the table.

"First you'll have to put these in," instructed Smith as he passed around a box of earplugs, "Ear protection, and you and Langley will have to wear glasses. Hornet your good with what you have on now. Would you please serve as my assistant safety officer Enterprise?"

"What do I have to do for that?" Enterprise asked, walking over to Smith.

"Simple, just follow any commands I give you and let me know immediately if you see something unsafe," Smith explained, "So, who wants to go first?"

"I will," Yorktown announced stepping forward. Smith nodded, then pointed to the position he wanted her to use. After she was set, he slid her an unopened box of .30-06 ammunition.

"Your targets are the white gongs at the top of those poles," Smith announced, pointing at the target poles, "Ready on the left. Ready on the right. Ready on the firing line. The flag is down. The flag is waving. At targets of opportunity, fire at will." Yorktown began to steadily fire the rifle at the gongs. She did well, most of her shots were on target, and the plates rang loudly each time a round struck it. Yorktown finally fired of her last shot and stood up, making sure that the rifle was cleared and the bolt was open. "So," Smith asked, "You like it?"

"I think this is perfect captain, so do I get to keep 'er?" Yorktown replied scooping up the weapon off of the ground.

"That is now your rifle, take good care of it," Smith replied. Yorktown walked to the back of the range with her new rifle clutched tightly in her hands. Hornet came up next, and did pretty well with the carbine. She was able to empty three magazines into the targets, but the weapon was overall less accurate than the Springfield, so she had a few more misses. Last Langley came up with the Winchester. Smith had to help her load the rifle, she didn't understand the loading gate at first.

But once 10 rounds had been loaded into the magazine tube, she stepped up to the line and said, "You'll have to forgive me if I don't do to well, this is my first time firing a rifle."

"That's fine," Smith replied, "Just do your best. We have some good instructors on base who can help you out if you need it later." Langley nodded, shifted the rifle into a more comfortable position, and began to fire. Langley emptied the entire 10 rounds in seconds, working the action so quickly that she fired faster than even Hornet's semi-automatic carbine, and every single one of those shots hit its target. It reminded Smith of a Cowboy Action Shooting competition he had watched a while ago.

"Was that alright," she asked once she had replaced the rifle on the table. Smith and the rest of the carriers stood in speechless shock for several seconds.

Enterprise was the first to regain her composure, "Ms. Langley, would you please teach me how to shoot like that?"

"If you teach me how to do that, I swear to you I'll never cuss again," Yorktown stated reverently.

"That was perfect Ms. Langley, that rifle doesn't do you justice. I've got a pretty good armorer on base that could work it over for you, make it even better," Smith announced once he was able to speak again.

"Thank you captain, that would be fine," Langley replied.

"Well I think we're done here. If you ladies would b so kind as to help me reload these pieces back into the truck, I'll get out of your hair and let you get lunch. Lieutenant Enterprise knows the way to the mess," Smith announced. With the carrier's help the job was quickly done and Smith was headed back to the HQ in no time.

His reasoning for leaving Enterprise alone with the new carriers was twofold. First, he had to go deal with the whole, no idea who's on my base problem, and second he had realized some time ago that Enterprise wasn't really accepting the fact that she was now human, only burying herself in work and other duties in order to distract herself from the issue. He figured that if he left her alone with her sisters, and the closest thing the trio had to a mother, than the issue would come up sooner or later. _Maybe being with family is the best way to bring my XO around to accepting her humanity, __and help them accept theirs_.

* * *

There were two mess halls on Midway these days. One was for the base's regular navy personnel, while the second was for ship girls only. Smith had ordered the second one constructed after the number of girls on the base started to approach the maximum safe occupancy level of the old building. In the mess was packed with girls right now, all eating their lunches and chatting amicably. There was one girl in particular sitting alone at one of the back tables, a plate with a large burger and a handful of french fires in front of her. She had short brown hair so dark it was almost black, and a pair of icy blue eyes staring out from behind a pair of thin, rectangular glasses. Her name was Walker, formerly USS _Walker _DD-163, and she had barely touched the food in front of her. Not because she wasn't hungry, or freaked out at the thought of eating. Just lost in thought.

As an old _Wi__c__kes_ class destroyer, Walker was one of the oldest and most out of date ships on the base, with a commissioning date of January 1919, and, to add insult to injury, the body that she now possessed was that of a 6 or 7 year old, making her one of the youngest and smallest on the base at four and a half feet, and a hundred pounds soaking wet. _I guess it is nice being young again, not having __to be held together with tape and patches. __All the while h__aving my chief engineer drive himself mad with the laundry list of broken parts every morning__,_ she thought idly. She thought it was kinda funny that she could clearly remember that, her engineer climbing up the ladder to the pilothouse every morning to give the captain a list of nightly "casualties." There were other things that she remembered clearly, like when she lined up with her sisters to watch as that big Navy-Curtis flying boat flew overhead on the first transatlantic flight. She remembered what it felt like to cruise across the ocean at thirty plus knots while on sea trials, and the regret that she never got to sail that fast again.

What brought this line of thought on memory up for her was running into an old friend, or, at least, she thought it was an old friend. She had been walking to the mess hall from the destroyer barracks, and had run into the heavy cruiser Houston. Houston was another old Asiatic fleet hand, and Walker remember sailing with her many times back then. She also remembered sailing alongside Houston the night that she had been caught by Jap cruisers, and sent to the bottom along with the Aussie cruiser _Perth_. But when Walker tried to greet Houston as a friend and colleague, the old cruiser had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she had no memory of an old four stacker named Walker ever sailing with her.

Now that had shocked Walker, why didn't Houston remember her? That's why she was here now, trying to figure out if there was anything else she remembered that was wrong. _And whose memories are wrong, hers or mine? Was there ever a destroyer named _Walker_ serving with the Asiatic fleet? _Her train of thought was brought to a screeching halt when she heard a voice above her ask, "This seat taken?" She looked up to see a man she didn't recognize standing over her with a plate of food.

"No, go ahead," she said motioning for him to take a seat. As he sits down she notices that he is wearing the khaki uniforms and the insignia of a Chief Petty Officer.

"I'm gonna have to apologize," he began, "I don't know who you are little lady."

"Walker," she replied simply.

"Walker Jones, Walker Smith?" the chief threw out.

"Just Walker, DD-163," she replied with a slight chuckle

"Well miss DD-163, my name is Chief Boggs. I'm this here base's master chief," Boggs said, offering her his hand.

"A pleasure chief," Walker said as she took the hand.

"Now that that's out of the way, I'm afraid I'm not that familiar with DD hull numbers. What class are you?" he asked.

Walker felt a spike of panic grip her, _What happens when he finds out I'm nothing more than an old _Wickes_? _She managed to push that thought back down and reply, "_Wickes._"

"Okay then, so what's got you so locked up over here?" he asked not even mentioning her class.

"What?" Walker said, taken aback.

"You've been sitting over here pushing the same food around the same plate for twenty minutes. That either means that the cooks are just bad as usual, or you are thinkin about something," he stated.

"Just... just memory," she replied after a second.

"Thinkin about memory, is that one of those oxy-morons I keep hearin about? You know like, military intelligence. Cause I never get those," he said in a humorous tone.

Walker let out a quiet laugh at the big man's humor, then admitted, "I was just trying to figure out why I remember something that no one else does."

"Listen here, your memories are your own, and no one else's. If there's something that you remember that someone else don't... well then they just don't remember right," he said giving her a friendly shove, "If you cast doubt on who you are, then you'll never figure it out." She had never thought of it that way, what Boggs was saying made sense. He continued, "Makin decisions for yourself is one of those things you're goin to have to figure out how to do on your own. No one can tell you what to remember, Walker, only you can do that."

"So who's right?" Walker asked.

"Does it matter? You remember it don't you?" Walker nodded, "Then you're right."

"Thanks chief," she said, a smile slowly forming on her face, "You know, you remind me of someone."

"And who's that?" Boggs asked.

"Oh, just my old bosun," she replied.

"Well I used to be an old bosun, but these days I feel like a cat wrangler more than a sailor," he lamented.

"Cat wrangler?" Walker asked.

"Do you know how hard it is to get you girls to follow orders sometimes, or how many I've had to sit down with?" Boggs asked rhetorically. "Well if you don't need my help anymore, I have to go see about keeping a destroyer named O'Bannon from blowing up the kitchen... again," he announced.

"No chief, I'm good," Walker replied finally beginning to eat her food.

"If you need anything, wanna talk, or need help with something, my office is in the HQ, just ask for Boggs," he said standing up. She nodded and watched as he walked towards the kitchen. He stopped for a minute in front of two girls that Walker didn't recognize, said something to them, and then walked off. The two girls looked almost identical, and were about the same age as Walker. One had long blue-black hair and the other had bright red hair tied up in a bun. They walked over to where Walker was sitting and sat down next to her without asking.

"Chief tells me you are another four stacker?" the one with black hair asked.

"That's right," Walker replied, "_Wickes_ class." An enormous grin split the face of the girl.

"I'm Peary, _Clemson _class," she said, sticking her hand out.

"Walker," Walker replied, taking the hand.

"She's Pope by the way," Peary said pointing at the other girl, who gave a little wave, "So what unit were you with Walker?" Walker suddenly remembered Pope, she had been their when they had tried to escort the old British cruiser _Exeter _past the Jap lines.

Walker briefly wondered if Pope remembered her before replying, "DesRon 29."

"No, crap," Peary replied, shocked, "We were with DesRon 29. You must have been one of the DesDiv 57 girls. We were with 58 back in the day."

"So," Pope spoke up for the first time, "Do we let her in on it?"

"In on what?" Walker asked, confused.

"I say we do, us old flush deckers have to stick together, show those _Fletchers _and _Bensons_ that we can fight just as good as they can," Peary replied, ignoring Walker. Pope nodded her approval and Peary turned to Walker. "If I'm going to do this, you're going to have to swear you wont run off and blab to the first person you see," Peary announced. Walker nodded, then Peary leaned in close so that no one could overhear them, "You hear that the skipper has a standing order that if anyone can find something that was left behind on the base by it's previous occupants, he will by them a weeks worth of ice cream from the mess?"

"Yeah," Walker replied cautiously.

"Well, let's just say that we stumbled onto something that guaranteed to get us at least a months worth of ice cream," Peary stated proudly.

"What is it?' Walker asked, now intrigued.

Peary glanced around to make sure that no one was listening before whispering in Walker's ear, "It's big, blue, and _Childs_ dragged one around back in the old war," Peary said, cryptically.

It took Walker a moment to piece that one together, then she asked, "You found a Ca.." Peary clamped a hand on her mouth cutting off the rest of the reply.

"Shh, you want the entire room to know?" she asked. Walker shook her head and Peary slowly removed her hand.

Pope stuck her head into the conversation and explained, "We found the thing about a week ago, but we haven't been able to get the captain alone long enough to claim it."

"Then we just need to catch him while he's alone," Walker mused.

"Do you know how hard that is? The man's a workaholic. When he's not in his office filling out forms, he's off in the boondocks where no one can find him," Peary complained. Walker leaned back and thought about that for a few minutes, but before she could say anything else, the sound of jet engines reverberated through the building.

"Oh goody," Pope called, "Mail's here."

"What was that?" Walker exclaimed not recognizing the sound.

"Transport plane, they run the things back and forth between here and Pearl every so often," Peary exclaimed, "Let's go see if we got anything this time." Pope and Peary jumped to their feet, quickly followed by Walker. It didn't take long for her to realize that every single other girl in the mess was also getting to their feet and shuffling towards the door. They all left the building in a throng and ran towards the airfield.

* * *

Smith got the message a few minutes after the plane had landed. It had confused the hell out of him when the thing came over, he thought that the transport flights were still suspended, but after the copier spat out the sheet of paper, all was made clear. It was a message from Davies stating that due to extreme risk of continued maritime shipping, the Air Force would be re-starting transport flights. He quickly skimmed the message until his eyes caught something typed at the bottom of the page. "Oh shit," he swore running out of his office as fast as he could.

In his haste, he left the message lying on his desk, the line, "...ship girl liaisons from the JMSDF will be aboard..." clearly visible at the bottom. When Smith ran up to the parking apron, he could see that he was already to late. Spread around the area were about twenty ship girls milling around, waiting for the plane to come to a stop. He ran past them all, hoping to intercept the Japanese girl before she ran into one of her American counterparts with a grudge. He skidded to a stop just outside the plane's side door, surprised to see Chief Boggs and Commander Miyata already there waiting for him.

"What's with the jet skipper, I thought the Air Force had run and hid?" Boggs asked. Smith held up a hand, telling him to wait.

"Commander... message... Japanese kanmusu... aboard," Smith wheezed to Miyata trying to catch his breath.

Miyata's eyes widened, "Do you know which one?" he asked. Smith shook his head, still huffing for breath.

"I'll deal with our girls sir," Boggs offered, "Ain't no one getting murdered on my watch."

"Well it's to late now," Smith said watching as the door was opened from the inside. Miyata was the closest one to the door and judging by the way his eyes went wide, the girl was someone he recognized. Smith turned back to the plane just in time to see a ball of ship girl fly out of the plane and right towards him. He tried to flinch and duck out of the way, when the girl leaped over him and tackled Miyata, knocking him flat.

"The hell," was all Chief Boggs could say before they all heard the sound of a dozen guns being cocked around them.

* * *

**Personal Communique**

**From: **CPT James Smith, USN, CO NS Midway Island

**To:** CDR Sarah Smith, USN, CO USS _Virginia _(SSN-774)

**Message reads:**

_Sarah,_

_ Rear Admiral Steven Davies is my boss, and the head honcho of this whole shebang. He's a good man, and if he was briefing you personally, then that means he is seriously considering bringing you into the program. The man has the right ear of the President himself(hell he managed to sway the CNO over to our side) and probably could have a few frat regs bent if he so wished. _

_ Good luck with the INSURV team, I remember those days. Many sleepless nights a week in advance, combing over the ship with a fine toothed comb only to have some over eager butter bar ensign screw the whole thing up two hours before the inspection, ah good times. _

_ Just to let you know, there are sub girls out there, just none on our base right now. I would like your opinion on what exactly we could do with them when we get them. Just lemme know what you think. _

_As always,_

_James Smith_

* * *

**Author's note:** And that's a wrap on chapter 6. We get to meet some new characters and the first Japanese girl comes to the base, but we have no idea who it is yet. We have officially reached the end of the introductory arc, and are now within the beginning of the character driven subplots, so expect about four different stories to take of from here.

So tune in next chapter when we reveal who the mystery girl is(for the two of you who didn't guess already), follow the continuing adventures of DesRon 29, get to see Enterprise finally open up, and meet a few new characters along the way.

**Side note**: USS _Walker_ DD-163 didn't exist in the Asiatic fleet in our world(as referenced by her experiences) she is shamelessly stolen from the Destroyermen books.

Okay bit of an official Navy note here. The official USN uniform regs have now changed. Due to the fact the Navy Working Uniforms (NWU) will burn readily when exposed to flame, they are being phased out of shipborne service. The replacement is a new version of the Utility coverall made out flame retardant material. I had no idea this was happening because at our ROTC detachment(the closest I am to the real navy right now) uniform regs are a little... lax. (Hell, our skipper, a full captain, walks around campus on a regular basis wearing a flight suit)

Review answer time, my this is going to be long this go round:

**SulliMike23:** Well it was Japanese girls, but wait till next time to see who.

**Wolfman-053: **I think I actually have a way around the museum ship issue now, but it will be awhile before I get around to implementing it

**On Silver Wings: **Nevada(and her sister) were actually on my shortlist for characters to introduce. I will probably steal some of your suggestions for her character design though.

**Jedii: **Glad you liked the last chapter. No BB's this time unfortunately, but that is because most of the next chapter will be about battleships and cruisers.

**Guest: **Yeah my style of combat scene comes from the fact that I used to write submarine combat scenes in which the choreography of the battle is almost as important as the explosions. I do have plans for bringing in some of the British and Aussie Pacific Fleet ships(two of them named in this chapter) but that will be down the line.

**Thorthemighty321: **I was actually planning on bringing in Johnston in this chapter, but the scene didn't really work out the way I'd like it to. Expect her in the next chapter, and as for the most requested ships ever, here they are.

**Potatoslayer4: **Yeah I do have plans for a lot more interaction between the USN and the IJN/JMSDF ships in the future, but there are a few issues I have to resolve first, so that's a wait and see.

**FrancisJames: **I guess I'm to used to relying on timestamps, the battle for the _Arctic_ takes place about a month after Enterprise is summoned. There is a substantial timeskip between each chapter, and all of the ships had a week to a train, and that's the American style up at 0300 asleep at 2200 style training. Lemme know if you would think time-date stamps would be useful in the story, and I'll go back and put them in.

**Colonel Amiruddin Arif:** I had a good idea for how I was going to implement sub girls, but after buying, and playing way to much of Silent Hunter IV, I have completely changed my mind on how they would work. So it might be a bit before I stick them in.

**J**: I honestly have no idea what the whole Pacific artbook situation is. I only know that Morganne was the one that put up the art on the WoWS forum, which is where I found it. And what do you mean by less than 1000 tons? Because the only thing I can think of in that regard is MTBs. And I do plan on putting in the mosquito boats, just not as full characters.

**Russian Guest**: I would absolutely love to write about that, and your comment got me thinking long and hard about ways to do it. I proceeded to fill about three pages of a notebook with ideas, and am going to try to start using them in the next chapter. I would love to hear any ideas you have on this, so lamme know what you think of


	7. Chapter 7

**Henderson Field, Midway Island, June 21, 2018**

To say the situation was tense right now, was a bit of an understatement. Smith had to act fast to defuse the problem. He raised a hand and yelled, "Stand down, everyone." He wasn't really worried about anyone being shot, the ship girls had been authorized to carry sidearms on the base, but were not issued ammunition. The only loaded weapons being leveled at the girl were the pair of carbines being carried by the Marine sentries.

"Alright shove off you lot, you have other duties that need to be done," Boggs bellowed in the tone of voice that only chief petty officers seem to have, the one that makes everyone in the area stop and listen. Smith turned to look at the new girl, who was currently laying on top of Miyata's sprawled form. She was about Miyata's height and had long, flowing brown hair. Smith could hear that she was muttering something to Miyata in Japanese. The only word that Smith recognized from the exchange was, "admiral" repeated several times. Smith had to suppress a chuckle at the sight.

He asked, "You need a hand their commander?" Miyata gave a muffled response. Boggs took matters into his own hands, and grabbed the girl by the back of her white dress hoisting her struggling form off of Miyata.

"That's enough of that," Boggs said gruffly, wrapping his arms around the girl as she tried to break free from his grip. Miyata stood up slowly, dusting himself off as he rose.

"Captain Smith, may I present the fast battleship Kongou, your liaison," he said after a second. Kongou said something in Japanese which Smith took to be a greeting of some kind. Miyata looked at her and said, "Kongou, this is an American base, please use English."

"Oh, okay, hello yanks," she said giving Smith a friendly wave. Smith was a little stunned at the rapid switch in language and shot Miyata a questioning look.

"_Kongou_ was originally constructed by Vickers in England," Miyata supplied.

"That explains it," Smith replied, then asked Miyata, "You seem to be acquainted with Ms. Kongou commander. Care to fill me in on that?"

"I used to be her... commander," he replied sheepishly.

"The admiral was a very good admiral, he led us to many victories," Kongou spoke up.

Smith chose to ignore her as he continued, "I propose we move this conversation to my office, no sense in stirring up more trouble than we need to. Kongou, if I tell the Chief to let you go, will you behave?"

"Yes I'll behave," she said with a pout, "Why would you think I wouldn't?"

Boggs began to open his mouth, but Smith cut him off, "Don't answer that chief." Smith gave Boggs a dismissive wave and the big master chief let go of the comparatively tiny Japanese battleship.

"Come on," Smith said, "My office is just on the other side of the parking apron." When the walked through the door to the HQ, Smith looked back to see Kongou clinging to Miyata's side. _I'm going to have to ask what that's all about later_, he thought. "So, do you have transfer orders?" Smith asked once everyone was seated.

"Transfer orders?" Kongou parroted, a blank expression on her face.

"Kongou did you receive a packet of paper before you left the main base?" Miyata clarified.

"Oh, yes," she said producing a slightly crumpled piece of paper from out of nowhere. Smith read over it quickly and then passed it to Miyata.

"You know a Captain Muriname?" Smith asked.

"Yes, he was my successor," Miyata replied, skimming the sheet.

"Admiral Muriname is my admiral, but he is not as good as Admiral Miyata," Kongou announced, looking back at Miyata.

_I _really_ need to figure out what that's all about_, Smith thought again. "Kongou, my name is Captain James Smith and I command this base and the ship girls attached here," Smith said.

She bounced up and grabbed Smith's hand before he knew what was happening, "Hello admiral, it is very nice to meet you. I've heard that you have a force of American kanmusu just waiting to jump into the battle with us against the forces of the Abyssals."

"And that now includes you if these orders are correct," Smith said, trying to recover his hand from the enthusiastic battleship's grasp, "Right now, Kongou, you are a liaison, which means that my staff will be pumping you for information sometime later."

"I'm always happy to help the admiral," she said cheerfully.

"Good," Smith replied, "Chief, could you go take our guest and go find SoDak. Tell her that she is to offer Kongou all courtesy, and take her on a tour of the base."

"Sir, do you think that that's a wise idea?" Boggs protested.

"Dakota is a resourceful girl, she can handle this," Smith said, his tone indicating that he wanted no further questions.

"Aye aye sir," Boggs replied, then stood up.

"Dakota? South Dakota or North Dakota? Or are you yanks hiding another Dakota that I don't know about," Kongou rambled.

"USS South Dakota, She's probably in the battleship barracks, she is the barracks captain now," Smith offered as Boggs lead Kongou out of the room. Though, "lead," might not be the right word for it. He put a hand on Kongou's back and shoved her through the door. "So, commander, what's her deal?" Smith asked Miyata after he was sure that Kongou was out of earshot.

"Kongou is... energetic," Miyata replied, "Do not take me wrong, she is a good ship and an excellent warrior. It's just that she can be a little... eccentric at times."

"Eccentric how?" Smith asked warily.

"Captain what I told you earlier, my capacity as an officer in the kanmusu program was a little more extensive than I led you to believe. I was, in fact, the commander of the very first program. I found myself in situations much like you are now, having to learn everything from scratch," Miyata reviled.

"What does that have to do with Kongou," Smith asked.

"Kongou was one of the kanmusu to come back, she was a pivotal member of my fleet for a long time. She has led the kanmusu of my country to many victories over the Abyssals," Miyata continued.

"What about the eccentricities you spoke of?" Smith asked.

"Primarily, Kongou takes the fact the she was built by the British seriously, she thinks and acts like a British expatriate. As you saw, she speaks fluent English. She speaks it as a first language as well. When speaking Japanese, she sometimes slips in random English words and phrases by mistake," Miyata commented. "May I see those orders again?" Miyata asked. Smith nodded and slipped the paper back over the desk towards Miyata.

"Something amusing commander," Smith asked after Miyata broke out into a peal of laughter.

"There is a handwritten note at the bottom of this meant for me," Miyata explained, 'if this is to be believed, after I left the base Kongou pestered Captain Muriname constantly as to my location. After he finally relented and told her, she began to pester him constantly trying to be re-assigned to the same base as I was. He finally gave in and sent her here."

Smith chuckled for a second then asked, "So what's with her and you?"

"Captain?" Miyata asked not understanding.

"Commander, she jumped out of the plane and tacked you. Then while we were walking up here she was all but hanging off of your arm, and when we came in here, the look on her face indicated to me, that her fondest wish at the moment was to sit on your lap," Smith listed.

"Captain, as I have said in the past, our base was run somewhat... differently from your own. There were no regular personnel on it. Only kanmusu, and myself. So it followed that some of the girls would become... infatuated with myself, and Kongou is one of those," Miyata stated, his face coloring with embarrassment, "She is of the belief that she is in love with me."

Smith tried to hide his laughter but failed miserable, "You're telling me that that girl, the one who is the personification of a multi-thousand ton battlecruiser, is in love with her commander?"

"Infatuated really," Miyata replied growing even redder, "And an emotion that I do not reciprocate."

"Look my policy is that I do not care what the sailors under my command do in the free time. So long as it does not break any major regs, or compromise their fighting ability," Smith said, completely serious, "Do I have to remind you that while a member of my staff, your disciple falls under the Uniform Code of Military Justice? And that there are several passages in there that strictly limit the relationships that officers may have while on active service?"

"Captain, I assure you, I have no feelings toward Kongou," Miyata reassured, "At least not of a romantic nature."

"Good, I would hate to call you up for Captain's Mast, because I would," Smith commented, referring to the process of giving punishment to junior personnel by the commanding officer. "Now that that's over with, you indicated that there were more than one of these girls who were smitten with you?"

"Yes captain," Miyata admitted, "It was all rather embarrassing at times."

"You do realize that I'm not letting you out of this room until you tell me about it," Smith announced, standing up to go retrieve a pair of drinks from his fridge.

"So I had gathered," Miyata muttered as he caught the tossed drink.

* * *

South Dakota was currently sitting in the common room of the battleship barracks, simply trying to kill time. She was sitting in a chair pulled up to a long, fifteen place dining table, placed in the center of the room. In front of her sat a white coffee mug emblazoned across the side with the legend, "USS South Dakota BB-57," and a silhouette of her old battleship likeness. It was filled with steaming hot, black coffee and every so often she would raise the mug to her lips and take a sip of its contents. She was a bit lost in thought at the moment, thinking about how just how much responsibility had been piled on her just because she was the first. Captain of the barracks and de-facto commander of the battleships, it was a long way from that cowering girl she had been when she had woken up in that hospital room.

To this day she couldn't think back to that day without feeling mad at herself. She was the USS South Dakota, a proud battleship of the United States Navy, and the first thing that she had wanted to do with this new form of hers, was run away and hide. She should have stood tall and announced for all to hear, "I am the USS South Dakota and I am ready to fight." But she had taken one look at her surroundings, and had tried to run away. She still felt ashamed of that decision to this day.

Now, due to her being summoned first, she was the highest ranking battleship, and was responsible for the rest of the battleships on the base. What that meant, most of the time, was that she was responsible for solving arguments before the escalated too far, and the battleships on base sure loved to argue. "Hey Dakota, question?" Dakota looked over at the other occupants of the room. At the other end of the table, two girls sat, a chess board between them. The one who had spoken was the USS Nevada, BB-36, a petite girl with long, wavy blonde hair and a trim figure.

"What is it," Dakota replied.

"Do you have any idea when we will go on a combat mission?" Nevada replied.

"Sometime after I finish beating your ass at this game," quipped the girl across from Nevada, the USS Pennsylvania, BB-38. Pennsy, as everyone called her much to her chagrin, was tall, just shy of 5' 10", and cut a very attractive figure, a fact that she wouldn't hesitate to remind you of. She was the one that started most of the more, violent, arguments that Dakota had had to resolve.

"I don't know for sure, but it has to be sometime soon," Dakota replied, completely ignoring Pennsy's quip.

"Okay, just as long as it's relatively soon. I don't like having to sit around here all day doing nothing," Nevada replied, then moved one of her pieces on the board, "Check."

"What?" Pennsy cried in disbelief, then leaned down to look closely at the board.

"I know how you feel," Dakota commented, "Free time, what a concept. The only free time that I had before this was when I was tied up to a pier or lying in a dry-dock."

"Now we have a set duty day, then everything else is our time to use," Nevada replied.

After staring at the board for several seconds, Pennsy forcefully grabbed a piece and shoved it forward, "Hah, take that," she cried with triumph.

Nevada calmly took one of her pieces and moved it one space, "Checkmate," she announced levelly.

"Wha...wha..what?" Pennsy blubbered studying the board carefully. Dakota quickly raised the coffee mug to her lips in order to hide the smirk that was forming at the sight of Pennsy's comeuppance.

"Speaking of which," Nevada began, ignoring Pennsy's shocked muttering, "When is our next training session. I mean full on, in the water maneuvering and shooting at targets training session."

"I heard the captain mention something about running a war game with the entire fleet," Dakota commented, "Don't know when, just everyone will be in it and it will happen before we begin combat operations for real."

"And then everyone can see my awesome gunnery skills," Pennsy bragged, finally recovering.

"You'll have to beat me first," Nevada shot back. Dakota was about to cut them off, when she heard the sound of the door being opened.

"Hey Dakota, you in here?" she looked up to see Chief Boggs standing just inside the door.

"In here," Dakota replied, "So what can I do you for master chief?"

"First, I need to introduce her," he said, pulling a girl into the room. She was wearing an intricate costume that Dakota had never seen before, and had her hair done up in a very strange style.

She raised a hand and said cheerfully, "Hello."

"Who..." Dakota asked.

"Battleship South Dakota, meet the Japanese battlecruiser Kongou," Boggs announced.

"Fast battleship," Kongou interrupted.

"She's our new ship girl liaison," Boggs continued heedless of Kongou's interruption.

"And, what am I supposed to do with her, I have enough to deal with already with the constant arguments?" Dakota asked sounding a bit overwhelmed.

"I resent that," Pennsy complained.

"Oh shut up," Nevada retorted, "You start most of them.

"Well I don't try to," Pennsy shot back, "But as much as I would like to stay and finish this little verbal debate, I have business down at the armory." Pennsy stood up and quickly left the room.

"Is she always like that?" Boggs asked.

"Pretty much, yesterday she got into a two hour long argument with Arkansas about which was real tea, sweet or unsweet," Dakota replied.

At the mention of tea, Kongou perked up, "You have tea?"

"Yea, in the carafe on the counter," Dakota replied offhand, making a vague gesture towards the area in question.

"Well the skipper says that because she's a battleship, she's your problem," Boggs stated firmly, "Plus he thought that you might be more, level headed than most. Not letting past differences getting in the way of present conflicts and all that jazz."

"So what am I supposed to do with her?" Dakota asked.

"Take her on a tour of the base, let her know how we operate around here," Boggs suggested, "And for God's sake, don't let her get into any trouble." Dakota looked over to where the Kongou was filling a mug from the pitcher. She raised it to her lips and took a sip, and then promptly spat the liquid out, disgusted.

"This is NOT TEA!" she exclaimed, "TEA does not taste like THAT!"

"It was Arkansas's turn to make the tea," Nevada explained, "And the was she makes it, she dumps sugar in until she cant mix any more sugar in."

"Well if you don't need me here, I'll leave you ladies to it," Boggs said, and then made a hasty retreat out of the barracks. Dakota looked over to where Kongou was still standing, mug of tea in hand, a look of pure disgust in her face.

"If you want regular tea, I think there are some plain black teabags in the cabinet," Dakota said, making her way over to the small kitchenette at the back of the common room.

"Teabag?" Kongou said, a look of complete incomprehension on her face. Dakota groaned, then filled a spare mug with water and threw it in a microwave to heat up.

"So what's your story?" Nevada asked while they waited for the tea to brew.

"I am the English returnee Kongou," she announced cheerfully, "Born in England and raised in Japan."

"Well, I am the battleship South Dakota, but everyone around here calls me Dakota," Dakota greeted, "You speak English pretty good for someone from Japan."

"Knowing the English language is essential for an English returnee such as myself," she replied proudly.

"I'm Nevada by the way, battleship BB-36," Nevada announced, then slid the cup of tea across the counter to Kongou, "I hope that's good enough."

"This will have to do for now," Kongou acknowledged.

"Well the chief told me to give you the rundown on how things operate around here, so here goes," Dakota began, "We operate with probably a bit more discipline then you're used to here. Reveille is at 0700 every morning, but you don't have to be out of bed until your assigned duty day begins. We have a color ceremony every Tuesday morning at 0730, you have to be awake and on the parade ground for that, no exceptions."

"Color ceremony?" Kongou asked.

"Flag raising ceremony, we call it colors," Dakota explained, "We also try to follow US Navy uniform regulations as close as we can, but the captain has the authority to waive that if he so decides. I would go talk to him later about writing in an exception for you before some over-eager petty officer decides to rack your ass for being out of uniform."

"So do you want to give her a tour, or do you want me to do that?" Nevada asked.

"Depends, you want to?" Dakota replied, "Reminds me, you okay with sharing the top floor with her? You're the only one up there currently, and I would like to distance her from Pennsy's attitude if I could."

"I don't mind at all," Nevada answered.

"Okay Kongou, finish your tea, and we'll go on a tour of the facilities," Dakota said, turning back to Kongou. The Japanese girl nodded her acknowledgment then quickly jumped to her feet. About an hour later Dakota was almost done with her tour. She had shown Kongou most of the base's main points of interest, the different barracks, the main HQ, the training ranges, and the mess hall. They were now walking down the road to the main club. Kongou had made this difficult by insisting on loudly introducing herself to everyone they passed, ship girl and regular personnel alike. Dakota had gone from trying to dissuade it, to silently laughing as she watched the faces of people as the energetic Japanese battleship tried to introduce herself.

Dakota saw someone coming down the road from the other direction. It took a moment for her to recognize the girl. She was small, shorter than a destroyer, and had bright red hair. This was the one person Dakota had hoped not to meet on this little tour. "Uh, Kongou, you might not want to..." she warned, but it was to late. Kongou had already bounded ahead.

"So who are you?" Kongou asked, "You look like a destroyer, are you a destroyer?"

The girl looked up at the battleship pestering her with questions, and said, "Destroyer escort actually."

"A destroyer escort huh, we don't have any of those in my navy, so what do you do?" Kongou pushed on.

"Convoy escort, and sub chasing," the girl replied flatly.

"Well nice to meet you miss destroyer escort, my name is Kongou, first of the Kongou class of fast battleships," Kongou said proudly. Something in the girl's face cracked when she heard Kongou's name.

She looked at Kongou for a long second, then shouted, "Your 14" rifles wont save you now." She lunged towards Kongou, arms outstretched and fists balled. Luckicly Dakota had foreseen this very occurrence and had placed herself between Kongou and the little DE. Dakota caught the smaller girl by the back of the uniform and pinned her with an outstretched arm.

"Kongou, meet the USS Samuel B. Roberts," Dakota said, holding the squirming escort against her chest, "But we call her Sammy for short."

"Lemme go SoDak, lemme go," Sammy said trying to break free, "I'm gonna show her who can win in a fair fight."

"Come on Sammy, we're not at war anymore. That ended a long time ago, they're our allies now," Dakota said.

"Hello Sammy," Kongou said, "It is very nice to meet you."

"You better not start anything Sammy, or the captain will have you shipped back to the states so fast that your sea bag will take two weeks to catch up," Dakota warned.

"Fine," Sammy harrumphed, "But if she starts anything..."

"Trust me, she's not going to start anything," Dakota whispered in Sammy's ear.

"She better not," Sammy proclaimed.

"Better not what?" Kongou asked.

"Tick off Sammy more than she already is now," Dakota explained, "Sammy why don't you go check in with the captain, see if he has anything for you to do."

"Okay," Sammy resigned. Dakota slowly let go of the little escort. Sammy balled up her fist and made a move like she was going to hit Kongou. When she saw Dakota flinch, she laughed, "Come on showboat, I hold my word. Didn't expect you to question that so easily." Sammy snapped of a faux salute, then ran off.

"She's nice," Kongou proclaimed once she was gone.

"Most of the time," Dakota acknowledged, "Helps that I'm one of the few people on base who can reign her in after she goes off on one of her tears."

"What was that?" Kongou asked.

"Nothing, come on let's hit the club," Dakota offered, "I'll buy the drinks."

* * *

**Main Headquarters, June 22, 2018 **

Captain Smith had just about decided that joining that Navy was that stupidest thing he had ever done. After having to deal with the stack of classified: your-eyes-only paperwork for four hours, he was hastily informed by the comms shack that there was a new message for him. It informed him that in three hours time there would be a major conference call between the various ship girl commanders in the Pacific area of operations about upcoming offensives against the Abyssals. A subject that he had spent many hours thinking about.

That information had put him off finishing the paperwork for the rest of the day, deciding that a walk around his base was in order. He wandered aimlessly for a time before he found himself outside of the main parade ground watching as a group of girls did calisthenics under the watchful auspices of Fletcher. She was standing in front of a group of about ten girls – obviously destroyers judging by their age alone – yelling commands to them. Smith stood out of sight, watching as they did a series of push-ups and sit-ups. He could tell that some of the girls were new and still unfamiliar with their bodies. They had trouble with the long sets of exercise that Fletcher was putting them through.

Finally she finished with the calisthenics, and told the girls to get ready for a two mile run. Some of them groaned loudly upon hearing this, while others simply started to stretch and limber out their bodies. Smith watched as they took off down the road, Fletcher at the head. One of the girls was obviously having a hard time about it. She lagged to the rear of the pack and was making indications that she was about to drop out. Smith made the decision then and there. He quickly stripped off his NWU blouse revealing a blue t-shirt with the word NAVY printed across it in gold, and threw it to the side. Tossing his cover on top of it, he took of after the girls at a jog. He caught up with the one lagging behind and asked, "What seems to be the problem?" He looked her over for a second. Besides her brown hair and blue eyes, she had the prevailing _Fletcher_ class features about her. She looked up surprised, she obviously didn't expect anyone to be there, much less her commanding officer.

"No..nothing sir," she wheezed.

"Everybody else seems to be doing just fine, so what's wrong," Smith pushed on.

"I'm just not used to two legs yet, I bet," she explained.

"Why is that?" Smith asked.

"Just came through two days ago," she clarified.

"Two days, and you've already been cleared for active duty?" Smith asked, unbelieving.

"I was under the impression that the ways were being greased for me," she explained.

"So what's your name?" Smith asked.

"Johnston, DD hull number 557," she replied. Smith looked up to see that they had fallen behind the rest of the running girls, so he increased the speed of his pace just a bit, hoping to get Johnston to speed up herself.

"You are quite a famous ship these days," Smith explained, "The story of Taffy 3 is legendary now."

"I don't know why," Johnston deflected, "I was just a destroyer who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I hadn't run into that fleet, the most I would have ever been remembered for would have been shelling Kwajalein and Guam."

"Still doesn't detract from what you did do," Smith pointed out, "Captain Evans was legendary in his time."

"Sir, I would appreciate it it you make all decisions about me in the future without taking that battle into consideration," Johnston said seriously, all traces of fatigue disappearing from her voice, "Everyone here seems to think that I'm this super ship with no fear, but that's just not the case."

"Aye aye Johnston, from now on, you are nothing more than a destroyer in my eyes," Smith acknowledged, "If you want special treatment from me, you're gonna have to earn it sailor, you get me?"

"Yes sir, thank you sir," she said with a small smile.

"Now come on Johnston," he said, "We have a mile to finish."

"Aye aye sir," she replied following after him as the ran on. They were the last ones to finish the mile. Fletcher began to make her way over to Johnston, apparently intending to chew her out for the lousy time, but she stopped when she caught sight of Smith. He shook his head, indicating that he wanted her to act like he wasn't there. She gave a slight nod, then proceeded to rail Johnston's for not being able to keep up.

She was about to assign additional physical training when Smith stepped in, "Fletcher would you think that Johnston would benefit from training with me?"

"Sir," Fletcher asked, not understanding Smith's offer.

"I don't know if you know this, but I do my calisthenics every morning at 0500," Smith explained, "Ending with a run around the island. I think that Johnston might benefit from a little, less strenuous training given her recent posting here."

"Sir, if you're offering, I have no problem with that," Fletcher replied, "How about you hero boat?"

"I'm fine with that," Johnston replied, ignoring Fletcher veiled barb.

"Good, then meet me on the parade field tomorrow at 0500," Smith said, clapping his hands together, "And don't be late."

"I won't," Johnston said with firm conviction, "I'll see you there." Smith nodded, exchanged reports with Fletcher, retrieved his uniform, and then made his way back to the HQ. When he opened the door to his office, he was surprised to see a girl standing on a chair trying to retrieve a book from the top of one of his shelves.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, "What are you doing in here." She whirled around at the sound of his challenge, loosing her balance in the process. She toppled off the chair and landed on the ground in a very undignified manner, then, to add insult to injury, the book that she was trying to retrieve fell on top of her head, knocking her glasses askew.

"Ow," was the only thing she said as Smith walked over to her.

"You okay there?" he asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

She took a moment to regain her composure before replying, "Y-yes sir, I'm alright. I-I was just in here to r-report in, and I saw the books. I just wanted to l-look, honest."

Smith helped the girl to her feet then asked, "And who might you be?"

"Mahan sir. D-destroyer number 364," she replied with a stutter.

"And do you have an interest in history Mahan?" Smith asked, putting the book that Mahan knocked off back on the shelf.

"The s-study of history lies at the f-foundation of all sound military con-conclusions and practice," she said, proudly. Smith recognized the quote immediately, and it surprised him a bit that she was familiar with it.

"You're familiar with the works of your namesake?" he asked. She didn't reply immediately, instead she went over to his desk and picked up a book that he didn't recognize. It was large, bound in red leather, and had a stylized anchor embossed on the cover in gold. She handed it to him and he flipped open the cover. He read the title on the flyleaf, _The Influence of Seapower Upon History_. "Where did you get this?" he asked after a second.

"I d-don't know sir. I had it w-with me when I came through," she explained. Smith nodded looking back to the book.

"What's this," he muttered. At the bottom of the page a handwritten signature was scrawled. He looked closely at it to see that it read, "A. T. Mahan." Smith whistled softly then passed the book back to Mahan, saying, "You keep a hold of that." He stood up and walked to the bookshelves lining the back wall of the office and said, "Now what are you interested in borrowing."

* * *

"Come on, now's our chance," announced the destroyer Peary as she lead her two companions through the passageways of the headquarters building, "The captain just went back into his office, if we move quickly, we can catch him before he starts working again."

"Yeah, or get thrown out on our asses," muttered Pope as she followed her sister. Walker had to grin internally at Peary's dedication to her quest of getting the captain alone. As they approached the captain's office, they were passed by another destroyer walking in the other direction, a stack of books clutched in her arms.

Walker felt a sense of deja vu when she looked at the other girl, and asked, "Do I know you?"

The other girl looked up at Walker and replied, "N-not that I know of. USS Mahan, DD-364."

"Ah, that explains it," Walker announced, "I knew a Mahan back in the day, but she was DD-102. USS Walker by the way, DD-163"

"Nic-nice to meet you," Mahan stuttered, "If y-you'll excuse me, I have some r-research to finish."

"She seems nice," Pope remarked idly as Mahan walked away.

"We can worry about the goldplater later," Peary replied, "Right now we need to get to the captain. Peary led them to Smith's door, then burst inside calling, "Captain we need to talk to you."

Walker and Pope walked in just in time to see Smith throw up his hands in exasperation and say, uncharacteristically, "Why do I even close the damn door."

"We-we're sorry sir, we'll go now," Pope stammered in fright.

"No, no that's alright. What can I do for you girls?" he asked.

"Sir, DesRon 29 here Peary, Pope, and Walker," Peary announced, "We found something that we think is worth some ice cream."

Smith's attitude changed when he heard that, "What did you find?"

"Sir, with respect, I would like to show you rather than telling you," Peary said.

"Where is this thing that you've found?" Smith asked.

"In one of the old hangars out by the seaplane ramp," Pope explained.

"Alright, lead the way," Smith said, standing up. Peary ran over and grabbed his hand, making sure that he didn't get distracted from where she was leading him. The quartet made their way to the hangar in question. "What's the important thing you've found," Smith asked after taking a look around the building. Walker looked around herself, and couldn't see a thing in the gloom.

"Sir, this building got passed over because there's nothing in it, at first glance," Peary began, "When we came in, we noticed something."

"And that was?" Smith asked.

"When we paced off the outside of the building, we found that it was about 200 to 225 feet long, and when we paced off this room, it was only 75 to 100 feet long," Peary reviled.

"There's an internal wall," Smith said realization dawning on his face.

"Yep, and when we managed to cut through it, this is what we found," Pope said, dragging Smith over to where a five foot square hole had been cut out of the wall. "Sorry about the size," Pope apologized, "We didn't expect to be coming back here."

"That's fine," Smith said as he ducked through the opening. When all four of them had made it through the hole, Smith said, "I can't see anything in here, it's too dark."

"Just a moment sir," Peary said, "I knew I left that thing here somewhere. Ah here it is." The beam of a flashlight snapped on and moved around the hangar. It came to rest on a large tarpaulin covered object at the center of the room.

"Is that what I think it is," Smith said, reverently. Peary's flashlight reorientated itself to clearly display the Consolidated PBY Catalina flying boat sitting in the middle of the room.

"We haven't had that much time to inspect it, but it seems to be intact," Peary confirmed. Smith walked over to the plane and ran a hand along its aluminum skin.

"It's a bit beat up, probably had a couple of hard landings," he muttered, "We're gonna have to drag it outside and let Smokescreen take a look at it."

"So, is that worth any ice cream?" Pope asked expectantly.

"I would say so," Smith replied, "Come on, let's go find the constructionmen and get that wall torn out."

"Yay," Pope said happily, then followed Smith back out the hole with her sisters. Two hours later with the help of a small army of enlisted constructionmen and a bulldozer, the wall was knocked out, and the PBY was dragged out onto the tarmac of Henderson field. Commander Smokescreen gave the plane a brief inspection, concluding that the hull displayed the tell tale signs of suffering several hard landings. It would have to be repaired. The engines were in good shape, but after siting unused for 70 years meant that the oil in the crankcase had decayed, and would have to be scrubbed out, meaning a complete engine overhaul. Which wouldn't be hard, it would just take time. But besides that, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the plane.

Smith was on his way to the comm shack to compose a message to Davies about the PBY and the possibility of repairing it to use as a patrol auxiliary, when he was intercepted by Enterprise. "Sir, you are needed in the war room, the conference is starting."

"Crap," Smith said, "I forgot that was happening. Lead on Enterprise." On the way there Smith realized that he was only wearing his Navy t-shirt, and his face was probably streaked with sweat and grease. He had been working right beside the enlisted men as they had worked to free the plane. _I guess that can't be helped now_, he thought as they walked. When he entered the war room, he saw that the main screen had already been lowered and an image was being projected onto it.

"Good for you to join us captain," Smith heard a voice coming through the room's speakers. He looked up to see that two faces were being projected onto the screen. Someone had helpfully put labeled under their pictures so that he knew that one of them was Captain Hisashi Muriname of the JMSDF, and the other was Admiral Susan Beaumont of the Royal Navy. Muriname was the overal commander of the Japanese ship girl program, and Beaumont was the commander of all Commonwealth forces.

"Did we catch you in the middle of something captain?" Beaumont asked, her clipped British accent apparent.

"Just some routine maintenance," Smith replied, he then pointed to Enterprise who had followed him into the room, "May I present my executive office, Lieutenant Enterprise."

Muriname nodded at Enterprise, then said, "A pleasure to meet you miss."

"Enterprise eh. Why am I not surprised that she is back, and in a position of power," Beaumont asked rhetorically.

"Commanders," Smith started, "We are here to discuss joint strategy moving forward. So what are your suggestions."

"Right now we have split up the western Pacific between us, with the Japanese taking the north, and my forces the south," Beaumont explained.

"With your forces in the central pacific, we are given an opportunity that we have been lacking for quite some time," Muriname said.

"And that would be?" Smith asked.

"Establishing a protected shipping route across the Pacific, much like what has been done in the Atlantic," Muriname concluded, "I am correct in concluding that the United States has regained much of industrial production capabilities in the last few years?"

"Last time I checked," Smith replied, "We kinda had to, with no imports coming in, it was the only way to keep everyone afloat."

"Myself and Muriname have discuss this quite a bit before you yanks showed up on the scene – quite unexpectedly too at that – and we have decided that by leapfrogging escort forces between our bases, we could provide a continuous escort for convoys of commercial shipping all the way from the west coast of your States to the waters of Australia or Japan," Beaumont announced, "With fleets of ship girls to escort the ships between our bases, where they would stay as transients until they could tag along behind a convoy moving in the opposite direction."

"Do you have any details worked out?" Smith asked, intrigued by the proposal, "I would have to forward anything you tell me onto my boss, Admiral Davies, then he could buck it up to the CNO."

"I have a report that my staff typed up some time ago that I could send you," Muriname said.

"What type of timetable are you thinking about?" Smith asked, moving on.

"Early next month," Muriname said, "Could you do that?"

"Most of my girls haven't seen combat service yet," Smith said, "But we could be ready by then if we had to."

"By the way captain," Muriname said, changing the subject, "How is Kongou doing?"

"Besides immediately tackling Miyata upon exiting the plane, and almost getting into a fight with one of my destroyers? She's just fine," Smith replied.

Muriname let out a loud laugh, "That's Kongou for you."

"She sound like some of my more... spirited cruisers," Beaumont mused.

"If we're done here," Smith broke in, "I have some training schedules to go work out. So please just send any relevant data to me, and I'll send it up the chain for approval."

"Very well," Muriname confirmed, "Good day captain." His face blinked out from the screen.

"Nice to meet you captain, I hope we can work together in the future," Beaumont said, then her face blinked off, leaving a black screen.

Smith stood in silence for a second before saying to Enterprise, "Get everybody rounded up, I'm going to brief the troops. Then start drawing up plans for a full fleet exercise. We're going to have a war game in a few days." Enterprise stood in shocked silence for several seconds before Smith asked, "Is there something wrong lieutenant?"

"Sir, is this really happening?" she asked.

"Yes, it is, and we can't stop it," Smith confirmed, "All we can do is be ready for it. Go round up the troops, I''ll be out in a minute." Enterprise came to attention, then left the room. Leaving Smith alone with his thoughts. _I hope that I can be ready to send those girls into the kind of combat that nearly drove me insane_, he thought sadly as he started to walk outside to give the most rousing pre-battle speech of his career.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Chapter 7 is done, finally. This one is a major story building chapter with allusions to a few major characters and plots points for down the road. And as to my choosing of Kongou as the liaison, it's simply because she is the only Japanese girl that we know for sure speaks English. I could make up BS reasons for a few others, but I couldn't resist the story potential of using her.

Expect a bit more time between chapter updates from now on, my laptop literally fried itself(there was blue smoke and everything). Luckily I save all files to my dropbox account so I didn't loose this chapter, but most of my writing was done on my laptop.

I'm thinking of putting up battle maps and character notes on my deviantart account, so lemme know if anyone is interested in those.

Review time, and goodness gracious there are a lot his time.

**FANFIC HUNTER: **Yes it's Kongou, and the way I see her is sort of like Jack O'Neill from Stargate, she's seen so much that she's decided to ignore it all by acting goofy.

**hfdt123**: Yeah I argued putting in Walker for a long time, but she is just so badass in the book, that I went with it. And when you said this I realized just how ambiguous that last line was, so I tweaked to lessen confusion.

**J:** Most of the ships that small were gunboats and torpedo boats, which I have decided to not bring in as characters, mostly because there were just to many of them used to make individual characters, but if you have a specific ships you would like me to look at, lemme know and I'll look it over.

**Jedii**: Well it was originally going to be all of the Kongou sisters, but then I realized why that would never happen, so it's just Kongou.

**Colonel Amiruddin Arif: **And along with this chapter we get the first girls from Taffy 3. I will be adding to their characters down the road, expect a major scene with Johnston next chapter.

**Thorthemighty321: **That scene was one of my favorites to write, had a lot of fun with that.

**SulliMike23: **Yep Langley the mother to the American carriers, there was no way not to bring her in.

**potatoslayer4: **Oh yes, then for her to meet the southern style of tea, oh that scene was just waiting to be written.

**Guest(1):** Now that we've established the commonwealth forces expect some British ships in the next few chapters. I try to actually minimize the number of combat scenes by making sure that they are full explained before they happen, so that helps space them out.

**FrancisJames: **I almost went to tears while I wrote that scene(but I'm the kind of guy that cries every time I hear Trace Adkins sing _Arlington_). My basis for the Yorktown sisters was that Yorktown was the brash fighter because she got hit at Coral sea, came back within days, and then refused to sink after Midway until being torpedoed by the Japanese sub. Hornet was emotional because she watched _Yorktown_ go down at Midway, and _Enterprise_ get hit at Santa cruz. I'm probably going to put up my character notes on my deviantart account, so you can read my justifications for everything.

**c0dy88: **Your right in that there are very few girls that would start something without provocation, but it will be fun to write future interactions.

**Rapter267: **Yeah, that was the only way I could justify bringing in Walker as a character was to write that scene, and of course it's Kongou.

**Wolfman-053: **Indirectly yes, It was more of I picked up that habit from watching too much NCIS, and I thought it would be perfect for her.

**Luffy'stwin33: **Now that we've set up the major strategy for the forces in the Pacific to use going forward, expect a lot more USN/JMSDF and USN/RN cooperation in the future.

**Gem Warrior: **I can understand your confusion based on the number of the Japanese girls who were sunk by US subs, but during the war the IJN subs really didn't sink that many allied ships. That had to do with doctrine more than anything, and will be studied in depth in a future chapter.

**Guest(2):** It was Kongou, and that line about liaisons is ambiguous and I need to fix it.

**Guest(3)**: Glad to have you aboard for the wild ride, I hope you like it moving forward.


	8. Chapter 8

**War Room, June 23, 2018 **

Smith was tired, exhausted might be the better term for it. After the conference with the other ship girl commanders, he had started to work on a plan for future combat operations. A long table had been appropriated from somewhere, and had been pulled into the room to serve as an impromptu map table, and a large map of the Pacific Ocean had been rolled out on top of it. The map had been crisscrossed with lines indicating potential convoy routes. Smith had called in Miyata, Zimmerman, Boggs, and Enterprise, and they had spent the entire night throwing ideas off each other. Now twelve hours later, they had come up with several good ideas. Sometime during the night Langley had found them in the room and had kept a never ending stream of fresh coffee flowing into the room. Smith had no idea how many cups he had consumed, but he knew that it was probably an obscenely large number.

Most of the discussion had been about how they were going to organize the ship girls into escort fleets that could provide adequate protection. They had finally drawn up a finalized table of organization for how they were going to split up forces into numbered fleets. Smith also had a list of girls that he thought would be the best choices for promotion to officer rank. They would serve as the leaders for the escort fleets, and the commanders for DesRons, CruDivs, and BatDivs.

The discussion had begun to taper off around 0300. They had come up with a plan to send a reconnaissance mission through the Abyssal fleet, but that was about it. Smith dismissed everyone to go back to quarters and get some sleep. He was a bit shocked to look at his watch and discover that it was 0430 in the morning, then he remembered that he had promised Johnston that he would meet her to exercise at 0500. He had just enough time to shed his soiled uniform and grab a t-shirt and shorts before getting out to the parade field. Unbeknownst to him, he had grabbed the old blue shirt with the words, "USS _Evans _DDG-125," printed across the front in gold text. He spotted Johnston standing next to the bare flagpole. "You're early," he called.

"You're late," she quipped back.

"If you must know," Smith explained, "I was in a planning session all night with the senior staff."

"Anything I oughta know about?" she asked.

"Not really," Smith replied, "Working on convoy routes, and that's all you're gonna get out of me. So I was thinking we start with a run around the island. 'Bout three miles."

"Sure," Johnston replied. Smith took of at a slow jog, making it easy for Johnston to keep up.

"So you really only came through a few days ago?" he asked as they went.

"Yep," she replied dryly.

"I know this probably sounds clichéd and old by now, but what do you think about all of this?" Smith asked.

"The new body is okay I guess, it's certainly different," she said after a moment's thought, "But I just can't stand the hero worship."

"What do you mean by hero worship?" Smith asked, "You mean about Samar?"

"Yeah, it seems that everyone I talk to, ship girls and regulars alike, seem to only ask me about that battle," Johnston replied.

"I take it that you don't like that?" Smith asked.

"It's just..." Johnston began, struggling for the right word, "It's just that sometimes I'd like to talk about something other than old battles."

"I think I know how you feel Johnston," Smith announced, "Back when this war was fresh, I was one of the few people to actually survive an attack by the Abyssals. I had people asking me left and right what it was like. They kept reminding me of something that I'd rather forget, but after awhile, the questions stopped coming and I was able to move on." Johnston was silent for several, long seconds before Smith asked, "You wanna talk about it at all?" She gave him a disbelieving look and he added, "I mean about how you felt, not about the battle itself. I know the history Johnston, I want to hear your story."

She stared straight ahead and replied, her voice taking on a distant tone, "I remember my crew listening over the radio as Jesse Oldendorf's battlewagons pounded the Japs to hell. The crew complained that we wouldn't be able to get into the fight. Then we saw the Jap battlegroup over the horizon on the radar set."

"When you led the charge, were you scared?" Smith asked suddenly.

"Shitless sir, I was scared shitless. Well the equivalent for a ship I guess, but not for myself. I knew I wasn't getting out of that fight afloat, and I was resigned to that. I was scared for my crew. All I could think was, 'Please let these boys get home safely,' and as I went down I was glad that at least some of them were able to get away," Johnston replied.

"So what's the problem, why do you hate telling that story so much?" Smith asked.

"It's just that everyone hears my history and thinks I'm some crazy hero who will charge the enemy and win. That wasn't me, that was Captain Evans. I would have been way to scared to try a stunt like that," she replied a look a sadness in her eyes at the mention of Captain Evans, "And it doesn't help that when Sammy came back, that's exactly how she acts."

"I see what you mean," Smith admitted, "Well I can assure you Johnston, I'll never take you for anything more than you are."

"Thank you sir," she replied with a smile, "Now may I ask you something sir?"

"Shoot," he said.

"What is the _Evans_?" Johnston asked, then pointed at Smith's shirt, "On your shirt I mean?" Smith looked down to see that he had grabbed his old ship's shirt by mistake.

"Oh that," he replied, "The _Evans_ was my old ship. She was an _Arleigh Burke _class destroyer." He pointed to where the _Halsey _was still anchored in the lagoon, "Kind of like that one, but a bit bigger and a bit newer."

"_Evans_, as in..." Johnston trailed off.

"Named for Captain Ernest Evans?" Smith continued, "Lemme just say that our ship's motto was, 'A fighting ship.' That battle has captured the imaginations of the current generation. It's hard to bring up WWII without talking about those brave men in their little tin cans. Hell, the Japanese still claim that they fought a force made up of cruisers and destroyers, rather than destroyers and destroyer escorts. But don't worry about it, if you want the chance to prove yourself, I'll give it to you. Which brings me to another point, your old unit isn't here, is it?"

"Nope, just me," she replied, "None of the other girls from DesRon 47 are here yet."

"Here's what I was thinking," Smith began, "I need someone to fill in for Fletcher in DesRon 21 while she's still on convalescent leave, and they'll need a fifth after she comes back. So how about it?"

"Go to DesRon 21 sir?" Johnston asked incredulously, "But they're the top unit."

"I know," Smith said, "And they're going to get the first combat assignment, to Japan. Speaking of which, will I have any trouble with you and the Japanese?"

"War's over skipper," Johnston said, "You won't get any beef from me." Smith was about to reply when Johnston suddenly stopped running.

"What's wrong?" Smith asked. Johnston didn't say a word, but raised her hand to point at something behind Smith. He turned to see two figures running down the path. He instantly recognized the figure closest to him as the battleship Arkansas.

Arkansas was shouting, "You keep away from me with that thing, I tell ya I don't want it."

"But Arkansas, you have to start every morning with a nice cup of tea," yelled back Kongou, who was chasing after Arkansas. Smith could see that she was holding a metal teapot in her hands.

"That girl is the battlecruiser Kongou?" Johnston asked, a note of disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah, she is," Smith replied, "Doesn't really fit the hype does she?"

"Not really," Johnston replied.

"Well it's about time to stop for the day," Smith said, looking at his watch.

"If you're done with me sir, I think I'll go get some chow," Johnston said, then started to walk off.

Smith grabbed her shoulder and announced, "Hold on just a sec, you're coming with me to the officer's wardroom, and I'm buying."

"Okay skip, lead the way," Johnston said as they walked off.

* * *

**Eastern Island, 0800**

It had taken him several hours, but Smith had finally decided which girls he was going to give the recon mission to. With their unique stealth capabilities, the submarines were the logical choice for the dangerous mission. There was only one problem with assigning the subs the mission. With their, unique capabilities, the subs tended to have unique personalities. In order to lessen the chances of problems between them and the rest of the base staff, Smith had basically given them all of Eastern Island to call their own.

Midway Atoll was just that, an atoll. It consisted of two main islands and dozens of smaller ones forming a ring around the lagoon. Of the main islands, the one where the main base was located on is called Sand Island. There is another large island to the east called, surprisingly, Eastern Island. Eastern was pretty much abandoned when the Navy retook possession of Midway Atoll, all that was there was an old auxiliary airstrip. It was the perfect place to give to the submarines, abandoned and far enough from the main base that they couldn't cause too much trouble. To get over to the island, Smith had to catch a ride in a boat. He was currently motoring across the channel in one of the base's two rigid hulled inflatable boats. Essentially a boat with a steel hull and rubber tubes as gunwales, the RHIB was capable of doing above thirty knots on any sea, and it made a perfect small boat for motoring around the lagoon.

He pulled the RHIB up to the concrete pier jutting out into the lagoon, and tied off the boat. The first thing he noticed was the plywood sign hanging from a pole at the end of the pier. It read, "Submarine Island," in large, hand-painted letters, and below that was scrawled, "All destroyers _KEEP OFF!_ This means _YOU!_." Smith briefly wondered what that was about as he walked up to where several buildings had been constructed in a rough semi-circle. Two of the buildings were obviously storage shacks of some kind, and were not labeled at all. There were two, larger buildings that looked like barracks of some sort. The most striking feature about them, was that they were raised off the ground on stilts, like something stolen from a beachfront resort. Hanging from the front porch of the largest one was another hand-painted sign, this one read, "Silent Service Winter Residence."

Smith spent several minutes looking around the little compound for any signs of life. There didn't seem to be anyone around here. He was about to announce his presence, when he caught sight of an old-fashioned, canvas hammock strung between two of the stilts of the barracks, and, judging by how low it was sagging to the ground, it was occupied. He walked up to it and said in a loud voice, "Excuse me." The girl inside bolted upright and looked around for the source of the voice. When she caught sight of Smith, she tried to stand up in the hammock, but ended up flipping the thing over, causing her to fall flat on her face.

As she was standing up and dusting herself off, Smith recognized her as the submarine Tang. She quickly dusted off her khaki uniform, and then reached down to pick up a khaki colored combo cover from where it had fallen out of the hammock. She flicked the dust out of it, and placed it over her fiery red hair. After this was done, she turned to face the barracks. "Skip..," she yelled, voice cracking, but cleared her throat and continued, "Skipper, the captain's here."

Smith looked up at the building when he heard angry footsteps clomp out onto the porch. A second girl appeared glaring down at where Tang and Smith were standing. Smith recognized her as Wahoo, the de-facto commander of all subs in Midway. She looked at a watch and announced, "Tang, what's the big idea of waking me up at 8'o'clock. I told you, never ever wake me up before 10'o'clock. Now why don't you go back to sleep, and let me get a few more hours of shut eye."

Tang stood dumbfounded for a second, before replying, "But-but skipper, the captain is here."

Smith took a step backwards into Wahoo's line of sight and said, "Mind telling me why you weren't up at reveille Wahoo?"

Wahoo took on a shocked expression and said, "Well sir, we didn't have anything to do today, so I told the girls to get a few extra hours of sack time." She looked around the compound for a second before asking Tang, "Speaking of which, where are the girls Tang?"

"Oh, they're over mainside stealing supplies," Tang shot a look over to Smith and hastily added, "I mean scrounging... uh, requisitioning supplies." She then said quickly, "Not that they would try to steal anything captain. No sir, those girls are the perfect examples of American citizens. They wouldn't possibly..."

Wahoo cut her off, "Tang."

"Yea skipper," Tang said looking up at Wahoo.

"Shut up," Wahoo said curtly.

"Yes skipper," Tang acknowledged, closing her mouth.

"Well captain, what can I do you for?" Wahoo asked, turning to Smith, "And come up, come up. No sense standing in the sun down there." Smith nodded and climbed up the flight of stairs leading up to the building's porch. He looked over at Wahoo to see that she was wearing a set of striped pajamas, furthering the impression that she had just gotten out of bed. Smith walked into the barracks and looked around. The building seemed to be made up of a single room, and it looked to be a living/dining room. A large dining table with several chairs pushed up to it was in the center of the room, and a kitchenette with a long counter and several cooking appliances was in one corner. He could see that in the opposite corner was a cot with a privacy curtain halfway drawn around it, probably where Wahoo billeted for the night.

Wahoo ran over to the counter and pulled out three coffee mugs. "Have a seat captain, we can talk over a strong cup of coffee," she said as she poured the contents of a coffee pitcher into the mugs, and then slid one over to where Smith had taken a seat.

"I've got a mission for you and your girls," Smith began, and took a sip from the mug, "That's not bad."

"What kind of mission?" Tang asked, taking a sip of her own coffee before coughing loudly. "That's pretty strong," she wheezed.

Wahoo waved Tang off, then repeated Tang's question, "What type of mission captain?"

"We want to run a reconnaissance mission. Send a group of girls through the Abyssal lines in order to first, make sure it can be done, and second, get a better picture of what we're up against," Smith explained.

"And you want my girls to run this mission?" Wahoo asked, "Any particular target in mind, or is this a general recon?" Smith pulled a small map out of his pocket and unfolded it on the table. He pointed to a black line traced across the map.

"This is the route you're gonna take, from here to your old stomping grounds in Australia," Smith explained.

"Reason why the destination is Australia?" Wahoo asked her face taking on a thoughtful expression.

"We wanna start running convoy routes from the west coast to Asia and Australia. You would be running one of these routes to get a better idea of what the merchantmen would have to deal with," Smith explained, "Plus you get to show the flag for our allies."

"So why Australia and not Japan?" Wahoo asked, tapping her finger on the island in question.

"Let's just say that you subs did such a good job in the old war, that there are several Japanese ship girls with nightmares about marauding US submarines," Smith announced.

"When do we leave?" asked Tang.

"As soon as possible," Smith replied, "If you can get your girls ready in time I would like it if you could leave later today."

"They should be here in a bit," Wahoo said, "I'll give em the brief when they get back." Then she thought of something else and asked, "Are we taking full war loads on this mission?"

"You will have magazines full of torpedoes when you leave this island, but remember, this is a recon mission, not a war patrol. If you find a good target, by all means, stick some fish into it, but you are not to go tear-assing off after targets," Smith said, "Got me."

"Loud and clear captain, loud and clear," Wahoo replied.

"Well, I think I'm done here," Smith said, standing up, "I think I'll take my leave..." He trailed off as he heard the sound of footsteps coming from outside.

Wahoo heard it too, because she quickly said, "Well we are going to be very busy around here for the next few hours captain, why don't I have Tang escort you back mainside."

"Oh no," Smith replied, "I want to see your girls for myself."

"That's not necessary sir, I'm sure you could read all about them in the personnel records if you wanted to," Wahoo continued.

"Don't tell them I'm here, I wanna see this for myself," Smith said as he ducked behind the curtain in the corner. He watched as four girls walked into the room, each one of them carrying a large, cardboard box.

The first girl to walk in raised her box and said, "He skipper, look what we found." She was a short, thin girl with curly blonde hair, and she was wearing a set of utility coveralls, a white dixie cup hat perched on her head.

Wahoo gave the girl an exasperated look and said, "What did you do this time Harder, steal a jeep and chop it up into box sized pieces?"

The girl, obviously the former USS _Harder_, gave Wahoo a hurt look and said, "Come on skipper, that's a bit much, even for me." Harder sat the box on the ground and flipped open the top. She pulled out an object and tossed it to Wahoo, "Voila, I present one genuine American, Meal-Ready-to-Eat, or MRE for short."

"What is this," Wahoo said, turning over the package in her hand.

"This is what they used to replace the old K-rations," Harder cast a quick glance around the room, then said, "And compared to K-rations, these actually taste like food."

"What would you know about how K-rations taste," one of the other girls remarked.

"More than you Sealion," Harder said to the other girl, "I actually found a crate of the things when we moved in. Vile, absolutely horrible."

"And how exactly did you get these MREs Harder?" Wahoo asked, tossing the MRE packet onto the counter.

"Well skipper, we went down to the supply yard in order to see what we could find, and there were two pallets filled with these boxes," Harder said triumphantly.

"So you filled out a requisition form and went through the proper channels?" Tang said throwing a quick glance to where Smith was hidden, "Right?"

"Naw, that would have taken weeks. I sent Sealion here up to the front door of the warehouse, and the marine guards waved her through without challenge," Harder said, slapping Sealion on the back. Smith chose this moment to make his presence known by stepping out from behind the curtain.

"Morning sailor, what you got there?" he said to Harder, nonchalantly.

"C-c-captian, what are you doing here?" Harder stammered.

"For future reference, I don't mind giving you supplies, but we need the requisition slips on file to know what is in our warehouse," Smith announced, "So just make sure I have a filled out requisition for everything you need next time. Preferably before you take the supplies."

"Don't worry about that captain, I'll make sure we file the paperwork," Wahoo said, "Bye now, We'll talk to you later."

"Just a second," Smith said, ignoring Wahoo's insistance for a second, "I don't think I've been introduced to everyone."

"Well you see sir, this is Harder, and that's Sealion," Tang supplied pointing to each girl in turn, "And the two in the back are Darter and Dace."

"Now that the meet and greet is over, we really need to get ready captain, big mission ahead and all that," Wahoo said, pushing Smith towards the door, "And we really wouldn't want to keep you from more important duties."

"Well if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask," Smith said, then left the building.

Pausing on the porch just long enough to hear Wahoo yell, "You stupid eight-balls. STEALING SUPPLIES, what's next gambling rackets, KIDNAPPING. And not only did you admit the crime IN FRONT OF THE CAPTAIN, you told that one of you lot walked past a marine guard. The only reason you got away with it THIS TIME, is that the captain is a nice guy. But if I EVER catch you micks pulling something like this AGAIN, I will string you up from a yardarm so fast it'll take your skivvies two weeks to catch up, SABE?"

Smith heard a muffled chorus of, "Yes skipper." as he walked down the stairs. He made a quick, mental note to add Wahoo to his list of girls deserving of a commission.

* * *

**Cruiser Barracks**

Compared to the destroyer barracks and submarine island, the cruiser barracks was peaceful and quiet. Smith almost thought that there was no one here, but then he heard a shout coming from a room down the hall. He had come straight to the cruiser barracks after dealing with the submarines in order to have a talk with the cruiser girls, and get a feel as to how their organizational structure was starting to shape up. He had been somewhat neglecting the cruisers as of late, giving the destroyers and the carriers more attention that he had given to the ships that had, at one time, been the backbone of the Pacific fleet. With their long ranges, heavy guns, and good anti-aircraft suites, the cruisers were some of the best ships to give escort missions to. His task here today was to figure out which girls would be filling out the roster for Cruiser Division(CruDiv) 1, and who would be its commanding officer.

He wandered down the hall towards the sound of the voices. He looked into what had to be the common room of the barracks to see four girls crowded around a large television screen. Upon second glance, Smith saw that the television had been hooked up to a computer, and was displaying a video game. In the center of the screen, a ship was slowly turning to port. Smith didn't know the exact class of the ship, but he knew that it was a US pre-war treaty cruiser. Its distinctive double-triple turrets gave that away. One of the girls spoke up, giving a message of encouragement to the girl sitting behind the keyboard, "Come on P-cola, you can do it. Just one more ship."

"I know, I know. I'm working on it," replied the girl playing the game. She shifted what appeared to be a targeting reticule with her mouse until it lined up with the bow of another ship, a ship that had a red icon floating above it. The girl clicked the mouse, and the ship on screen fired several orange tracers. Then flew in a short arc and impacted with the other ship, causing it to burst into flames and explode.

The four girls in the room let out a cheer of success as the screen grayed out and replaced by a screen that simply read, "Victory."

"That got real tense at the end Pensacola, but you pulled it through, good job," one of the girls said as she slapped Pensacola on the back. Now that they were done with whatever that had been, Smith gave a little cough in order to get everyone's attention quickly.

One of them looked over at him, recognized who it was, and called, "Ten-hut."

Smith had to reply, "As you were," as they all tried to stand up.

"What brings you around here captain?" someone asked.

"First off, can I get a roll call? I don't know everyone by sight yet," Smith asked.

The girl who stood up first was about a head shorter than Smith hat around 5' 6" and had a bulky frame. She had long jet black hair worn loose, and was wearing a set of camouflage utilities with an interesting gray and black stripe pattern, almost like old Measure 32 camouflage. She introduced herself, "Heavy cruiser Salt Lake City CA-25 reporting sir."

The girl who had been playing the game stood up next to Salt Lake, and Smith knew instantly that she was her sister. She was the same height, but had a little lighter build. She had the same jet black hair, but wore hers shoulder length. Her utilities looked similar to Salt Lake's, but had a pattern of dark and light gray with no black. "Cruiser Pensacola," she said, "Lead of my class, and hull number CA-24."

The third girl was a bit taller than the Pensacola sisters, at around 5' 10" tall, with a trim frame. Her blond hair was tied in a single ponytail that ran down to her mid back. She was wearing a set of standard navy blue utility coveralls. "USS Northampton CA-26 and lead ship of the _Northampton _class of heavy cruisers."

Finally the last girl stood up. The first thing that grabbed Smith's attention with her was the fact that she was much shorter than the rest of the cruisers. With a height of close to 5' even, she was only marginally taller than the destroyers, and her small, lithe frame didn't lend anything to her physical presence. Her hair was short and bright red, and she had a pair of aviator style sunglasses perched on her nose. The uniform she had was also distinctive, similar to Pensacola's, it had a more jagged pattern to it, almost like the Measure 12(Modified) fatigues that O'Bannon had ordered for the destroyers of DesRon 21. When she realized that she was the last one in the room to sound off, she said, "Light Cruiser USS Atlanta, CL-51, you just leave all air defense to me."

Smith took one more look over the four cruisers lined up in front of him, then asked, "So what was the game?"

They stood, completely stunned at his question for several seconds before Pensacola answered, "Just something we found online. It's a competitive ship simulation game."

"And one of the playable ships is the _Pensacola _class of cruiser," Salt Lake added.

"So we thought it would be fun to take 'er out for a spin, so to say," Atlanta continued.

Smith nodded wordlessly at the explanation, then asked, "So, how did you do?" This question left the cruisers just as speechless as the first one.

Pensacola replied again, "We were doing pretty well. If you saw that was the fifth game in a row that we've won."

"So why was Pensacola playing?" Smith asked next.

"It's an account based game," Northampton explained, "We all have accounts made, and it was Pensacola's turn."

Smith decided that it was time to change the subject, "So is this all of the cruisers, or are there a few more of you?"

Salt Lake answered this one, "Sir, the Houston is also here on base, but she's out chasing destroyers."

Smith didn't think he heard that one right, "Chasing destroyers," he parroted.

"She considers herself to be the best destroyer wrangler on the base," Atlanta explained, "Carries around a lasso and a leg iron at all times, strange one that girl."

"I bet," Smith muttered, then spoke up, "I bet your wondering why I'm here." He received four affirmative nods, "Well the main reason is organization."

"Organization sir?" asked Northampton.

"As I am well aware that scuttlebutt travels much faster than official announcements, I'm sure you are all aware of the fact that we will be starting convoy escort missions sometime next month. I need a force of cruisers to assign to the first escort fleet, and, seeing as how the assignment of cruisers to official units was always a bit, informal, We've have decided to make a completely new cruiser division. To be called, surprisingly, CruDiv 1."

"So who's going into this unit?" Salt Lake asked, stealing a quick glance at her sister.

"Seeing the lineup here, I'd say that the four of you would make the perfect choice for the nucleus of CruDiv 1," Smith said, causing the four cruisers to relax visibly, "Now the only task is to pick a leader. Any suggestions?"

The four of them glanced at each other and exchanged a silent conversation, before Salt Lake replied, "I think that I'll step up to the plate for this one captain. I have the most combat experience of the four of us, and I think that I could do the best job."

Smith nodded, "Okay then, congratulations Petty Officer 1st Salt Lake. You are now the CO of CruDiv 1. I will be contacting the four of you later about missions, so be ready."

Salt Lake looked completely stupefied at the sudden advancement, so Pensacola spoke up, "We will be sir, I'll make sure of it."

"Well them, have fun with your game," Smith said as he walked out of the barracks and made his way back towards his office. Upon entering the room, he found Master Chief Boggs sitting in his chair, looking smug.

"What can I help the skipper with today," Boggs said, trying desperately to keep a straight face.

"I've got this damn pain in my left leg, I think it's a remnant of the piece of shrapnel still stuck there. Would you be kind enough to massage it for me?" Smith asked, completely seriously.

"Point taken," Boggs said, quickly jumping out of the captain's chair.

Smith took his seat, then said, "I'm actually glad you came by Chief, I was going to go looking for you myself in a minute. I was thinking about that dry run mission we spit-balled earlier today. I think I know how we can run it."

"You mean the recon run to Australia?" Boggs asked.

"No I mean the idea to send a ship through to Japan with a full up escort fleet in tow. I have the perfect ship for the job," Smith replied, "And her skipper owes me a couple of favors."

"Which one is that?" Boggs asked.

"The one sitting in our lagoon," Smith replied, "I'm going to recommend that the USS _Halsey_ take on full bunkers of fuel from our dump and make best possible speed for Fleet Activities Yokosuka, with an appropriate fleet of USN shipgirls to provide escort."

"Sir, why the _Halsey_?" Boggs asked.

"Main reason chief, they knew what they signed up for. I don't want to risk a civilian ship for the first transit, and the _Halsey_'s already seen combat in this war. Plus if it gets her out of our lagoon, then good for us. Don't need anymore crap from the brass hats upon high in the Navy department."

"You know who you're gonna assign to the escorts?" Boggs asked.

"So far? DesRon 21 as the main girls with Dakota and Enterprise as command. I was also thinking of sending some of the cruisers along to get experience. We just got CruDiv 1 operational, so they're ready to deploy," Smith replied. The conversation was interrupted by someone knocking on the door. "Come in," Smith said out of reflex.

Johnston walked up to Smith's desk and laid down a manilla envelope, explaining, "I was told to give this to you sir. Latest traffic from the commo shack."

"Thank you Johnston, is that all," Smith said as he picked up the envelope.

"That's all skipper, by your leave?" Johnston said, asking for Smith's permission to leave the room. He replied with a wave of his hand, and Johnston left.

"That was the USS Johnston?" Boggs asked, a note of awe in his voice.

Smith was so surprised by the unexpected display of emotion by the chief, that he stopped opening the envelope to ask, "What do you mean Chief?"

"That's the destroyer who charged all them Jap battlewagons back in WWII?" Boggs clarified.

"She is, but she has requested that I don't bring that part of history up around her, and I have obliged," Smith replied, beginning to work on the envelope again, "And I ask that you do the same."

"Sure thing skipper," Boggs said, "What you got there?" Smith held up his hand to forestall any further questions from Boggs as he skimmed through the comms message.

Smith's eyes went wide as he read, "You are hereby ordered to prepare you base for inspection by the office of the Inspector General."

Boggs face fell instantly, and he said, "Oh crap, not the IG."

"From Washington," Smith added.

"Sir, we have to start getting ready," Boggs said frantically, "What do you need me to do?"

"I think we will be going ahead with the _Halsey _mission. Have her captain meet with me immediately to go over plans. We'll have to take Enterprise off the roster for the escorts though, I need my XO here for the inspection. Have her come in and talk to me about her recommendation for a replacement," Smith ordered.

"That all skipper?" Boggs asked.

"All I can think of," Smith said, then quickly added, "And add Kongou to the escort fleet, I want her as far from my base as possible when the time comes."

"Good plan sir," Boggs said, "If you don't need me, I'll go start gettin everyone ready. Gonna be a long week."

"Yes it will be. Yes it will be," Smith muttered as Boggs ran out of the room, "It's going to be a very long week."

* * *

**Authors Note: **bit more character intros for this one, needed to bring in the cruisiers and subs. Speaking of which, I have found so much material on the American subs during WWII, that I'm considering doing a spin-of story just about them. Probably go up sometime soon.

I will also be putting up a thread over on Spacebattles about this story, and will be throwing in some of the extra bits that didn't make the cut, as well as my character sheets and battle maps.

So review answering time, this gets longer every chapter:

**Thorthemighty321**: I would love to throw in more destroyermen shout outs, but seeing as most people wouldnn't get it, I'm gonna stick to just using _Walker _as a character for now.

**SulliMike23: **Having old rivals meet is one of the main reasons for writing a story like this, it's gonna be fun writing some more scenes like this.

**hfdt123**: Fletcher was just doing her job as a drill instructor, if that means chewing someone out because they didn't preform up to expectations, then they won't hesitate to do it. Fletcher has nothing against Johnston personally, it's just that Johnston wasn't up to snuff this time.

**kyuubi092: **I'm up to using any ships in this story, I'll have to look those two up though as I don't know them off the top of my head.

**Rapter267: **I think the costumes are a large part of their character as well(and a large part of the US girls character that they all willingly wear uniforms, though there will be some relaxing of that in the future). And I do have some ideas about how I'm going to have the old aircraft carrier rivals meet, though that will be for later.

**p****otatoslayer4:** Finally managed to get the cruisers in, and as me and my friend put it, the fanbase will stage an open revolt if the USS _Enterprise_ isn't added into WoWS as a premium.

**Jedii: **Finally managed to get this one out, sorry for the wait.

**Colonel Amiruddin Arif: **There will definitely be more scens with the battleships later(I had a big scene with Texas in a previous chapter, but it didn't pan out the way I wanted it to, so into my scrap file).

**Fanatic-Fanatica: **SoDak is the most advanced battleship at the moment, but her reason for bing commander is that she has the longest time in grade, ie longest time on the base.

**chaosrin**: When the shipgirls fight, they have full tactical control over their actions, meaning that they choose how to fight the battles, but strategic command rests with the humans, the admirals.

**FrancisJames: **Was originally going to have all of the Kongou sisters follow their crazy sister to Midway, but then I realized how stupid a strategic choice that would be, so just Kongou. And as to Willie D? Oh lord the comedic relief with that girl is going to be legendary.

**Irontemplar: **In the game Nagato has several lines in reference to the Bikni Atoll tests, so I see it as a buried memory that could resurface at any time, and common story that could link several ships together.

**rstlss1: **Oh the magnificent Kongou, she really is the expy of Jack O'Neill isn't she?

**Dylanyo123: **One of my main problems with anime is amount of fan-service. In a story like this, I want to hear the ship girls stories, not their love interests. While I do think that romance is a legitimate plot device, it shouldn't be the only plot device.

**jacky2734: **I do have a special plan for Arizona, but I haven't figured out how it's going to fit in yet. And I am on SpaceBattles, but I haven't published anything there yet. Litteraky the only thread I'm on is the Kantai fanfic recs one.

**Guest: **Exeter was actually on my shortlist of characters to bring in. expect her next chapter along with the first batch of commonwealth girls.

**Russian Guest: **As I've said in the past, I'm terrible at proofreading. I catch what I can, but I don't catch everything.

**Old Iron: **Thank you for your comments, and I hope you enjoy the rest.

**tarboxdouglas: **Welcome aboard this wild ride, and I hope you enjoy the rest.


	9. Silent Service: Tang's new mission

**This is a side story, regular chapters will resume shortly**

The submarine girl Tang was having second thoughts about her situation right now. She was standing outside the door of the base commander's office, steeling herself up to walk inside and report aboard. She had been dreading this moment all day, and had spent at least an hour making sure that the khaki uniform that she had been issued was exactly the way it was supposed to be. She was desperately trying to recall that she had read in the _Bluejackets Manual_ about how to properly report aboard.

She decided that she had been standing out in the hallway for long enough, better report in before someone spotted her and asked her what she was doing out here. With one last deep breath, she rapped twice on the door marked, "Captain James Smith U.S.N., commanding." A second later she was rewarded by a muffled, "Come in," coming from inside the room.

Tang marched into the office and came to a stop in front of the captain's desk at a ramrod stiff attention, eyes staring at the requisite point six inches above the captain's head. She barked, "USS Tang, SS-306, reporting to the commanding officer as ordered sir."

She breathed a visible sigh of relief when captain Smith replied, "As you were Tang." She dropped her gaze to look over the man sitting behind the desk. Even though she had been on the base for close to a week now, she had yet to meet the man who ran the base. He was an imposing man, with a tall, lanky frame that towered above the desk in front of him, and the black eyepatch over his left eye only served to increase his physical presence. He looked like she thought a naval captain should look, and immediately reminded her of Commander O'Kane, even if he didn't wear dolphins. It was clear that while she had been looking Smith over, he had been looking her over, taking in her frame and bearing. She hoped that she measured up to his expectations.

"So you're Tang?" he asked after a minute.

"Yes sir," was the only way she could think to reply.

"I have to say Tang, you look exactly like a member of the naval service should," he complimented.

"Thank you sir," she replied.

"Discipline around here is a bit lax at times. I can't maintain it as strictly as I would like to, it just doesn't work with the type of personnel stationed here, but that being said, I think we go to far sometimes. I'm assigning you to our submarine commander, USS Wahoo, and I want you to continue to display the level of discipline and bearing that you did in here. Hopefully it might rub off on some of the other submarines. You think you can do that?" he asked. She was stunned, the captain was putting that much faith in her abilities? "I'm gonna assign you as the executive officer of submarine forces Midway. Do a good job and their might just be a gold bar in it for you."

"Yes sir," she said after a minute, "I think I can do that." Then she had a thought, "Sir, where will I find Wahoo?"

"She and her girls are in a compound across the lagoon, just go down to the pier and ask one of the coxswains to take you over to Eastern island," Smith explained.

"Yes sir, I'll go right away sir," Tang said, then stood waiting.

Smith looked at her for a second before saying, "Oh, yes, dismissed Tang." Tang walked out of the office feeling much better than when she had walked in.

* * *

Things were peaceful on submarine island today. After returning from a major training exercise, Wahoo had decided to give her girls the rest of the day off. Most of them were pulled up to a card table set up in the center of the compound playing hand after hand of poker. All of them were having a good time, except Harder. "Geez, the last time I had this much bad luck was in the Sea of Japan," she complained as she threw yet another bad hand onto the table.

"Cheer up, I'm sure pretty soon ole Hit 'em again Harder will be back in the game," Dace said, "But until then, keep putting your money on the table, and I'll keep taking it." She laid out a full house, eliciting groans from the girls at the table.

Harder turned and yelled, "Hey skipper, I think Dace is cheating again." Behind the table was stung up a canvas hammock, currently containing the commander of US submarine girls, the USS Wahoo.

Wahoo grunted then said, "Good for her, now lemme sleep." She turned over in the hammock and went back to sleep.

"Ah skipper knows nothing about poker anyway," commented Sealion with a wave of her hand, "I took $50 off her last time we played."

This elicited a low whistle from Harder, "Really, that bad. Remind me to make sure she's at this table next time we do this, okay."

"Well, would you look at that," Darter commented staring at something behind the table.

"What, what is it?" Dace asked, quickly turning around.

"Hey skipper, looks like the Navy's here," Harder yelled to Wahoo.

"Wha-what is it," Wahoo said sitting up in her hammock. Harder simply pointed to the boat slowly approaching the island, and the girl standing in the bow. She was wearing the nattiest pair of khakis that Wahoo had ever seen, a lot more professional looking than the Hawaiian print shirt that Wahoo was wearing.

The girl cupped a hand around her mouth and yelled, "Ahoy there, I'm submarine Tang and I'm the new executive officer. I'm sure that..." the rest of her sentence was cut short when the boat she was riding on jerked to a stop, pitching her into the water.

"Oh what now," said Harder as she ran over to where Tang had gone into the drink. She grabbed a boat hook off of the side of the pier, and used it to fish Tang out of the water by the back of the uniform. The rest of the submarines were crowding around in order to help Tang to her feet.

Once she was standing up, she said, "I'm submarine Tang, and I'm the new executive officer."

"Hey, we got ourselves a live one here skipper, what you think she weighs? I say at least 120," Harder remarked, gaining a round of laughter from the assembled submarines. Wahoo groaned, knowing exactly where this conversation was going to end up. She jumped out of her hammock and picked up her hat. The hat was one of Wahoo's identifying features, not only where there no other khaki combo covers on the base, the brim had been crushed and the sides folded down, giving it a very distinctive shape. Wahoo quickly put it on as she walked to the pier.

"Alright you," Tang barked, "I'm warning you, one more crack like that and you're going on report."

"Well make sure that it's a report about this record catch," Harder shot back.

Tang was about to shout something else when Wahoo walked up saying, "Alright hold it, hold it." She walked over to Tang and offered the other submarine her hand. "Howdy," she greeted, "I'm Wahoo."

Tang gave Wahoo's colorful outfit a quick look over then said disbelievingly, "You're Wahoo?

"Just call me skipper," Wahoo replied.

Tang spent another second looking at Wahoo, before she remembered the proper custom, and snapped a salute, "Submarine Tang reporting aboard sir." Wahoo returned it with a vague gesture towards her forehead that could only be loosely considered a salute.

Wahoo took Tang by the shoulder and began to lead her away from the pier, saying quietly, "Now I'm sure the captain told you that things operate a bit differently around here. You don't need to salute me or anyone else while you're on this island, and go a bit easier on the girls will ya, they just got back from a long day of training."

"I have been personally asked by the captain to help fix the shameful display of discipline around here. Now I know that you have let things fall into the state they are now, but I intend to do everything in my power to get this outfit back up to Navy standards," Tang announced.

"Oh," Wahoo said with a nod, "Well, lemme know how you make out mister." Wahoo turned and gave a gesture with her hand to indicate that the rest of the girls were to leave Tang alone. Tang was left standing on the pier in her soaking wet uniform as the rest of the submarines shuffled off towards their barracks.

* * *

The next morning Tang was determined to make up for her shameful display the other day. She had decided that she would do Wahoo a favor, by leading today's calisthenic exercises. According to the manual, calisthenics were best conducted in the morning before breakfast. When the temperature was comfortable, and the body was rested from sleep. She held up the wristwatch that she had been issued, waiting for it to show 0600. The minute it did, she blew the whistle she was holding and shouted, "Alright then, let's go, let's go. Roll call, everyone out of the sack. Come on time for a good brisk workout, let's go." When there were no signs of acknowledgment from the barracks, she increased her volume a little and continued, "Come on let's go, roll call. Harder, Sealion, Darter, and Dace come on." With still no signs of life from the barracks, she began to climb the stairs shouting as she went, "Now I'm warning you guys, I'm gonna count three, and then I'm coming in there to get ya. One... Two... Three..." She was cut off by the sound of a rifle being fired from inside the barracks.

Tang did the only thing she could think of to do, she ran for cover. As she was ducking behind a large wooden crate, she saw Wahoo come stomping out of the building where she slept for the night. "What in blue blazes is going..." the other submarine trailed off when she saw Tang lying on the ground. "Tang, what's all this racket?" she yelled, running over to Tang.

Tang cleared her throat and replied, "Uh, well sir, it's the girls. I tried to call reveille, and, they fired upon me."

"I don't blame 'em, it's only," Wahoo looked at her own watch and exclaimed, "6'o'clock!"

"0600 is the official time for reveille on this base," Tang responded.

"Look, as long as my girls do their duty while they're on duty, whatever they do for the rest of the time is completely up to them," Wahoo said, "And that includes shooting execs." Wahoo ignored Tang's shocked expression and continued, "Now I'm goin back to sleep, and if I hear one peep out of you before 10'o'clock, I'll take a few shots at you myself." Wahoo turned back her voice deadly serious and finished, "And I won't miss," then walked back up to her quarters muttering, "6'o'clock in the morning." Tang was left standing there completely dumbfounded.

* * *

Wahoo was enjoying her breakfast a few hours later listening as Tang shouted outside, "Let's clean up this compound. I want it looking shipshape." Wahoo was simply shaking her head at the girls persistence, that kind of direct order just didn't work on the submarines.

"Morning skip, it sure is getting rough out there," remarked Harder as she walked in.

"Yeah well, Tang's a nice girl, she just needs to be introduced to the way we do things around here," Wahoo replied.

"Well we got until Saturday to do it," Harder announced.

"What did you hear?" Wahoo asked, tone changing instantly.

"This comes directly from the scuttlebutt hisself," Harder said, pulling out a notebook, "Apparently there's gonna be an inspection Saturday, where the captain's gonna see if Tang has managed any progress on the lofty goal of getting us to behave, and if she hasn't, then we get a new minder, one who the captain knows will keep us in line."

"What'll happen to Tang if the captain thinks she's not doing a good enough job?" Wahoo asked.

"She get shipped back mainside to go through basic again," Harder paused, "With the destroyers."

"Ooh, now that is rough," Wahoo said, "You think she knew about any of this?"

"According to my source, who shall remain nameless, she knows nothing about the retraining, but was told about the inspection," Harder replied, "And if the captain thinks that Tang has done a good enough job, then we get to keep her as the exec and Smith'll throw her a gold bar for good measure."

"Well how about that," Wahoo remarked approvingly, "She didn't breath one word of this to me."

"Oh no skipper you've got that look in your eyes again," Harder said, "Am I gonna like this plan, or should I start running now?"

"That girl could have come crawling to me for help Harder, but she didn't. She tried to shape you lot up alone, and that takes guts just by itself," Wahoo said, "From now on Harder, anything that miss Tang tells you to do is to be treated as if it was an order from myself."

"But skipper," Harder protested.

"No but skipper, that girl is sticking her neck out, and I think she deserves our help for at least trying," Wahoo said, "Plus if we don't help her, the captain'll probably stick us with a destroyer as a new minder, and I don't need to outline how that'll go."

"Received and recorded skipper," Harder said throwing a mock salute, "I'll go let the girls know."

"Oh and Harder," Wahoo said as Harder stood up, "Don't breath a word of this to Tang, not yet at least."

"You got it skipper, my lips are zipped," Harder said, making a zipping motion across her face.

* * *

After the reveille debacle, Tang knew that this would probably be her last shot. Wahoo had come to her after lunch and said that none of the subs had received the briefing on the new Mk 14 torpedoes, and as executive officer, it was Tang's job to train the girls. So here she was, standing in the middle of the compound, the rest of the submarines sitting in a semi-circle around her, and a miniature Mk 14 in her hand. "Now this is the Mark 14 submarine launched torpedo," she began, "It is the most advanced submarine torpedo currently in our arsenal. It is powered by a methanol fired wet heater, and has a range of 4,500 yards. It is fired by an internal magnetic influence detonator, or this contact plunger here," she explained, and tapped on the contact plate at the front of the torpedo. The girls around her suddenly went wide eyed.

Dace quickly asked, "Is that a war shot?"

"Huh, oh yeah," Tang replied, "Yes it is, got it from the arsenal myself."

"There's a safety timer built in, if the contact pistol is fired and the warhead doesn't go off, it starts a detonation timer," Dace said quickly.

"Now who would put a stupid thing like that in a torpedo?" Tang asked.

"We did," Harder exclaimed, "To prevent dud contact pistols from leaving live warheads on the bottom. Is it ticking?" Tang held the fish up to her ear and went wide eyed when she heard the steady ticking of a mechanical clock. She did the only thing she could think of in a situation like this, she hurled the torpedo a hard as she could, and dove for the deck. Where she was quickly joined by the rest of the submarines. About twenty seconds later a loud explosion ripped through the silence of Submarine Island.

"Is everyone alright?" Tang asked quickly.

"Yeah we're fine," replied Darter, "But where did that fish go off?"

"Oh no, I think I know where," replied Harder, who was staring at something in the distance.

"Jumpin torpedoes, what the hell is going on out here, I swear I leave you eight-balls alone for five minutes, and you try to sink the island," yelled Wahoo as she angrily stomped over.

"I'm sorry sir, it was an accident sir," Tang said, her voice close to breaking.

"Oh, now I'm sire it was," Wahoo comforted, "Anybody get hit?"

"No skipper, we're fine," replied Sealion.

"But that isn't skipper," Harder said, pointing to something, "Miss Tang's stupid torpedo blew up the booze." Everyone looked over to where Harder was pointing and, sure enough, the supply shed that stored the island's rations, and liquor, was nothing more than splinters. "Lemme at 'er skipper, I'll kill her," Harder screamed as she tried to lunge at Tang.

"Now now now," Wahoo admonished, as she caught Harder, "It was an honest mistake. I'm sure Tang didn't know about the safety timer. It was the safety timer that caused this?"

"Yeah, it was close too, she almost didn't drop it in time," Sealion confirmed.

"Come on, let's go get you cleaned up," Wahoo said, putting an arm around Tang's shoulders, "We can leave the girls to deal with this mess, right girls?"  
"But skipper," Darter moaned.

"Right girls," Wahoo said, a little more forcefully.

"Right skipper," Dace acknowledged. Wahoo lead Tang away and up into the mess hall.

* * *

Tang knew good and well that she was through. Her foul ups had finally landed her in deep water, and she couldn't get out of it this time. It was only a matter of time before Wahoo called her in and told her to pack her things to return mainside. So the next morning when Wahoo walked into the little room that she had moved into, she was already on her feet. "Sir, I'm ready to accept any punishment for my actions."

"What make's you think I'm gonna punish you?" Wahoo asked.

"The thing with the rifle and the torpedo and falling in the water..." Tang listed.

"Were honest mistakes that anyone in you situation could have made," Wahoo said, cutting her off, "Hey, I know what'll cheer you up, let's go call roll."

"I don't think that's a good idea skipper, I don't want to look down the barrel of that rifle again," Tang replied.

"Oh don't worry about that, I confiscated it," Wahoo said, "Let's go, I'll even let you blow your whistle."

"If you say so skipper," Tang said, then walked out of her quarters and over to the main barracks. She took a deep breath and blew her whistle, immediately cringing for the return fire, but was pleasantly surprised when all four subs came running down the stairs, in full uniform.

They lined up in front of her and Harder stepped forward to say, "The detail is ready sir."

Tang turned to where Wahoo was standing behind her and said, "You hear that, the detail is ready," she then quickly snapped back to Harder and said, "As you were sailor."

They were interrupted by the sound of a new voice, the captain's voice, "So what's going on over here?"

"Just morning roll call sir," Wahoo replied, "I thought that I would let my new exec lead it today." Tang was absolutely stunned to hear that, Wahoo was accepting her as the exec?

"So then you think that Tang would make a good executive officer?" Smith asked.

"Yes sir, I do," Wahoo replied, completely seriously.

"Well what do you think about it Tang, do you want the billet?" Smith asked Tang.

"Exec, really," Tang said, still stunned, then snapped back and said, "Yes sir, I would sir."

"Good, then you can keep the job," Smith turned to leave, but said quickly before he went, "Try to keep them in formation at least until I'm out of sight Wahoo, I think that this is a sight that I will never see again."

Wahoo waited until Smith was out of earshot, then slapped Tang on the back and said, "Welcome to the family Tang." Tang was quickly surrounded by the rest of the submarines as they each congratulated her on her new posting.

"Now then, this means that we will have to hold morning exercises every day at 0600, and hold a formation every few days," Tang tried to order.

"I said you were in the family," Wahoo cut her off, "Not that you were running the family." This caused a new round of laughter, one that Tang quickly joined in.

* * *

In probably what was one of the greatest feats of scrounging in US naval history, Harder was able to replace ever single supply that had been lost when Tang torpedoed the shed. Now with the threat of inspection past, the submarine girls of Midway Atoll were having a party, as indicated by the bright lights and loud music coming from the mess hall. When Tang walked into the mess hall she was immediately greeted by Wahoo, "There's our exec. Pull up a chair, pour yourself a drink."

"Skipper I don't mean to alarm you, but it's five minutes to ten," Tang said, seriously.

"Is that right," Wahoo replied, not understanding.

"Skipper, lights out is at ten," Tang explained.

"Well then that means we all have five minutes to live," Wahoo said, "Come on Tang, you're among friends here, have a drink."

"Oh no skipper, I couldn't," Tang said.

"Don't tell me you're on duty?" Wahoo asked.

"No that's not it, it's just that I just brushed my teeth," Tang replied. The room was silent for several seconds, before everyone broke out into laughter.

Wahoo slapped Tang on the back and said, "I think you're gonna fit in just fine around here Tang, just fine." Tang knew that Wahoo was telling the truth, she was going to fit in just fine.

* * *

**Author's note: **Bit of a side story that I wrote up, and managed to loose for awhile. Thought it might be to someone's enjoyment if I put it up here. Will also be updating the SpaceBattle's thread with this sometime later today.


	10. Chapter 9

**USS **_**Halsey**_**, June 25, 2018 **

Destroyer life had certainly changed from what Johnston remembered. The ship she was on right now didn't even resemble the tiny, cramped tin cans that were so prevalent in her memory. She had trouble believing that the _Halsey _was a destroyer at first, it was big enough to be cruiser easily, but with its one gun, it barely qualified as a frigate. It had taken some explaining by Captain Smith to convey the current theory of modern naval warfare, with the anti-ship guided missile taking the place of naval artillery. He had explained that even though American destroyers only had one gun, they had several hundred missiles mounted in tubes beneath the deck, unnoticeable to the untrained eye.

That had only been her thoughts about the outside of the ship, when she had stepped inside, it was almost like stepping onto a completely different planet. Gone were the narrow corridors and tiny spaces, and in their place, a completely different type of ship. While it was still cramped, there was enough room for two people to walk down a corridor without rubbing shoulders.

She had also been awed at the amount of high tech, cutting edge equipment that was spread throughout this ship. She had been used to being the very last ship to get new toys to play with, that was just how the tin can navy functioned back then, only getting new gear only after the rest of the Navy got their gear first.

Johnston was having a bit of a problem. Despite the fact that at one point she had been a warship intimately familiar with her own interior and the way that ships were laid out, she was a bit lost. No, that was a lie, she was completely lost. She had less idea of where she was now in relation to where she was supposed to be than a green 2nd Lieutenant with a map and compass. All she knew was that she had been assigned to an officer's stateroom with the rest of DesRon 21, it was located in a part of the ship where the rest of the ship girls were berthed, and the frame number. At first she had tried to follow the frame number to the quarters, but she had quickly discovered that the Navy had changed its numbering system from what she remembered. The alphanumeric code that should have told her exactly where she was supposed to go, was nothing more than useless gibberish to her.

She had finally decided just to keep going upwards, hoping to find officer's country, figuring that it was probably located in the superstructure. She caught a luck break when she saw Nicholas duck into a hatch. Nicholas was her new squadron commander, and was supposed to be berthed in the same quarters, so the other destroyer probably knew where they were. Johnston didn't call out to the other destroyer, but rather memorized the hatch that she had disappeared into and walked towards it herself. Nicholas now wore the gold bars of an ensign and an enlisted sailor like Johnston just didn't call out to an officer like Nicholas unless they had a damn good reason for it, and the admission that she was lost would only result in an ass chewing by her skipper.

When she had first reported aboard to Nicholas a few days ago, the girl who everyone on base remarked was friendly and cordial, had given Johnston something of a cold shoulder. She had politely—if a bit coldly—welcomed Johnston aboard, and had curtly told her what was expected of her. It had gotten even worse when she had tried to introduce herself to the other members of DesRon 21. Where Nicholas had been simply cold and distant, O'Bannon had been openly hostile. Publicly calling her out as an interloper, not fit to wear the title of destroyer. Johnston had been so shocked by the display of anger, that she had given O'Bannon a wide berth over the last few days.

It had taken several questions to the other ships of Midway before she had been able to put together a picture of what was going on. DesRon 21 was a bit more than just a combat unit, it was a family. The four current members were close sisters, two pairs of twins. A quick check of the records confirmed that _Nicholas_ and _O'Bannon_ had been laid out next to each other in Bath, while _Fletcher _and _Radford _had gone down together in Kearny, explaining their closeness. Johnston had briefly wondered if she would feel a similar attachment if she ever came across her sister Hailey, but had pushed that aside quickly. No sense dragging up old wounds. The theory that she had come up with was that due to Fletcher's current status on the inactive list, the three other members saw Johnston's transfer to their unit as a replacement for Fletcher, instead of the addition she really was. Now not only did she have to make a name for herself to break the image that she had been saddled with, she had to prove herself in order to gain favor with her new squadron mates, and admitting that she was lost with no idea where to go wouldn't do anything to help that.

Johnston quickly followed Nicholas through the hatch after giving the other destroyer few second's time, and was completely horrified to find herself step through on the other side to find the _Halsey_'s main bridge. The bridge was one of the most strictly regulated spaces on the ship—with only CIC being harder to get into—the only people allowed to go there were those who had been given permission. Permission that Johnston didn't have. She tried to quickly duck back through the hatch, but someone challenged, "Hey you, what're you doing up here?"

"I'm sorry, I went down the wrong hatch," Johnston apologized, and tried to step back through the hatch.

She was stopped when a new voice called out, "Wait just a minute." She turned around to see a man step onto the bridge from the port bridge wing.

Johnston was absolutely horrified as one of the watch officers called, "Attention on deck," and stood up from his seat.

The man, a large, black man with a bald head and stern features, replied, "As you were." Only one member of the ship's company rated that kind of courtesy, the man who she was looking at, was the _Halsey_'s captain. "Your one of the ship girls we took aboard, aren't you?" he asked, sitting down in the chair marked, "Captain," at the center of the bridge.

Johnston managed a stunned, "Yes sir."

"Judging by the age, size, and the fact that I know there are four DDs on my boat, you must be the forth destroyer," the captain mused, "So which one are you?" He quickly added, "I'm Captain Lee Jones by the way."

"Johnston," she replied, voice firm.

"Well now I know what Smith meant when he said we were sailing with a quartet of legends," Jones said, earning him a confused look from Johnston, "Chief, why don't you show Ms. Johnston down to her quarters, she's in the spare stateroom with the rest of the destroyers."

A Chief Petty Officer stood up from where he had been standing next to the wall and walked over to Johnston, "If you would please follow me."

Johnston nodded and began to follow the chief off the bridge, but stayed just long enough to hear Captain Jones call, "Bosun, make all preparations for getting underway."

"Bosun's mate aye," the Boatswain's Mate of the Watch blew a long note from his pipe into the bridge 1MC circuit box, and said, "Make all preparations for getting underway, take in all lines. Prepare to shove off." Johnston followed the chief down the corridor and down two flights of stairs before he stopped before a door.

"Here're your quarters miss," the chief announced, "You think you can find them again?"

"I think so," she said.

"Well alright then," he replied, "I better be getting back to the bridge, we'll be shoving off at any minute now."

Sure enough, not two seconds later the sound of the _Halsey_'s horn sounding reverberated throughout the ship, and the 1MC squawked with the Bosun's voice, "Underway, shift colors."

"Well, goodbye miss," the chief said, "If you need any help, don't hesitate to ask." He disappeared back down the corridor, and Johnston rapped twice on the door.

A curt, "Come," was heard from inside the room. Johnston opened the door to find a small room with two beds against each wall. She saw Nicholas sitting at a desk, uniform jacket draped over the back of the chair, and a stack of paperwork sitting in front of her. "Oh, it's you," she said, "Stow your gear over there," she pointed to a locker with a pencil. "You'll have to take the bottom rack by the door," she said, pointing the pencil at the bed in question. Johnston nodded, and then threw her sea bag into the indicated locker. Nicholas turned back to her paperwork and said, "You'll take mess in the main mess at 1200. While at sea we'll be maintaining a round the clock watch for Abyssals, talk to Dakota about getting on the rotation when you have some free time. I don't think we have anything else to do today, but keep yourself ready in case something pops up. Questions?"  
"No ensign, I'm good," Johnston replied. Nicholas only replied with a nod, then began to fill out the paperwork in front of her. Knowing that the other destroyer wouldn't start a conversation, and not wanting to rick starting one herself, Johnston climbed into her rack and pulled out a book that Captain Smith had loaned her. She had guessed what the subject was when she read the title _Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors_, and had decided to read the book in order to see how many inaccuracies she could spot.

Thirty minutes later there was a knock on the door. Johnston lowered her book, and looked over the see Nicholas shout, "It's open," without looking up from the desk. Radford pushed the door open then walked over to sit on the rack next to Nicholas.

"How you doing Nick?" Radford asked, lying down in the bed.

"Fine so far, getting used the stack of paper that comes with these bars," Nicholas remarked idly giving the gold bars on her jacket a casual flick.

"How are you getting used to them?" Radford asked.

"You know the base telephones, the ones they use to relay orders?" Nicholas asked. When Radford nodded, Nicholas continued, "I got used to picking one up and answering, 'DesRon 21, Petty Officer Nicholas, how may I help you.' So after I got the bar, there was a couple of times when I picked up the phone and answered, 'Petty Officer Nicholas how may I help you,' usually to some feather merchant back in Pearl wanting to talk about something stupid. So about a day after I got the bar, Captain Smith came into my office and asked me to hold out my hand. When I did, he took out one of those indelible ink pens, you know the ones with the felt tip?" Radford nodded, and Nicholas continued, "He took it and wrote, 'ENSIGN,' on my palm, and then told me that the next time I answered my phone, I was to read my hand before I opened my mouth. He said he had gotten sick of explaining to people that I was retarded."

Radford sniggered, "Well at least it was you and not O'Bannon, if he had tried that with her, there would be a captain shaped hole in a wall somewhere."

"Speaking of O'Bannon, where is she?" Nicholas asked.

"Well you missed her getting chewed out big time by Dakota for not properly packing her gear," Radford said.

"What happened this time?" Nicholas asked.

"When Dakota went to open O-Boat's locker, all of the equipment inside came tumbling out, burying Dakota," Radford said sniggering, "She made O'Bannon take everything out, clean it, check it, and then repack it. All while Dakota stood over her shoulder making sure that she did it."

Nicholas let out a snort of laughter and said, "Well that's O'Bannon for you, anything else of note happen?"

"That Jap battlecruiser managed to stymie Dakota," Radford said after a moment's thought.

"How so?"

"Well first she ran into the hanger where everything is stored, and she popped off a salute to Dakota. This caused Dakota to go into a fifteen minute lecture as to why members of the United States Naval Service do not salute while uncovered and indoors. Then Kongou gave Dakota a pitiful look and said, 'But you're an officer, I'm supposed to salute all officers.' To which SoDak replied, 'Well, fine, but not indoors'."

"Doesn't sound that stymied to me," Nicholas replied.

"Wait a second, I'm getting to the good part," Radford said, "Kongou immediately replies, 'I will not salute you while indoors, Admiral.' I swear Dakota's eyes bugged completely out of her skull. She shouted, 'I'm not an admiral goddamn it! For the last time, I'm an officer yes, but I AM A LIEUTENNANT!' Then Kongou asked, 'But you are a leader of ships, right? So that makes you an admiral!'." Radford finished, "Dakota got so flustered trying to explain the concept of the rank structure to Kongou that she finally gave up and sent Kongou up to the wardroom to get tea."

Johnston had to choke down a laugh as a surprisingly clear image of a red-faced Dakota trying to yell at Kongou popped into her mind. She wasn't as successful as she had hoped, and Radford looked over at her, "When did she get here?"

Johnston replied before Nicholas had the chance, "I came in just before you did. Is there a problem?"

"I have no problem, as long as you don't have a problem," Radford replied. She turned back to Nicholas and said, "Wonder what we're missing main side? Anything good I wonder?"

Johnston replied again before Nicholas had the chance, "I'd take sea duty over an inspection by the IG from Washington any day of the week." She felt a surge a pride as Nicholas silently nodded her approval at Johnston's statement, and then went back to the paperwork.

"I'll have to give that one to you Johnny. Well if you don't need me, mess deck is supposed to have a coffee pitcher on round the clock. Think I'll go get me some," Radford said as she swung her legs out onto the floor, and pulled herself out of the rack.

"Go ahead, we don't have anything to do unless we get attacked," Nicholas acknowledged, "Well you don't at least, I still have this to work on." Radford nodded slowly, then walked out of the room. Johnston finally gave up trying to read the book, and allowed herself to nod off to sleep.

**NS Midway Island**

There are few things that frighten the United States Navy. One of them is the acronym IG, for Inspector General. Which usually means not only the officer bearing that title, but his entire staff. This ranges from senior non-commissioned officers upward, and what they do is visit a unit and compile long lists of the unit's shortcomings in all areas of military endeavor.

When a visit from the IG is scheduled, the unit to be inspected instantly begins a frenzied preparation for the inspection, so that the IG will find as little wrong as possible. The IG will find something wrong, or else the IG, including the staff, would not be doing the job properly. No IG report has ever said that the unit inspected was perfect in detail of its organization, personnel, and equipment. The best a unit can hope for is that the shortcomings the IG will detect are of a minor, easily correctable nature.

The fear and the near hysteria is compounded when the phrase "From Washington," is appended to IG. Captains, who could with complete calm, order a ship into an attack against overwhelming odds, and Master Chief Petty Officers, who would willingly take the helm and lead the charge themselves, break into cold sweats and suffer stomach distress when informed that their unit is about to be inspected by the, "IG from Washington."

There is a reason for this concern, an IG evaluation of unsatisfactory is tantamount to the announcement before God and the Navy that they have been weighed in the balance, and found not to be good sailors. Naval Station Midway Island was not immune to IG hysteria. There were several pre-inspections before the IG from Washington's inspection, during which the senior officers examined the equipment and personnel of the base, and searched for things that the IG would likely find fault with. And there were even more pre-pre-inspections, where the unit commanders and barracks captains sought to detect faults that would likely be uncovered by the base brass in their pre-inspections.

Depending on the individual, experience tends to lessen IG hysteria. Captain James Smith had been forced to stand at least four major inspections once a year back when he had been in the regular Navy. He knew how to stand an inspection, and wasn't too scared of it for himself. What he was scared of was the fact that none of his girls had ever actually been through an official inspection, and didn't have the experience of going through one.

He was currently walking towards his office having a conversation with Enterprise about what needed to be accomplished over the next few. "The one thing that absolutely needs to get done is to make damn sure that all of our personnel record are in order," he said, "If we screw up on the paperwork, that will make the inspection teams look extra hard at our personnel and I don't think that they could stand up to that kind of scrutiny."

"Why not sir? They've been through worse," Enterprise asked.

"They've never had to stand in a line wearing a flawless uniform, holding a spotless weapon in front of them," Smith replied, "Some of them could handle it with no problem, but others couldn't. And every black mark that the IG gives us is just another round to be used by the chair warmers back in Washington against us. That is why we have to make damn sure that the paperwork is in order."

"Aye sir," Enterprise acknowledged.

"We need to round up every single new girl not on our records, and draw up service records for all of them. Then we need full dress uniforms for everyone, and we need to make sure that everyone has been through a firearms qualification," Smith listed.

"Sir, what about ranks?" Enterprise asked, "For the girls who haven't been assigned them yet?"

Smith had to think for a minute before he replied, "Everyone who hasn't gone through basic yet will come in as a Seaman Recruit. Those who have been through basic, but haven't been assigned paygrades yet, assign them as a Seaman Apprentice."

Enterprise started to say something else, but was interrupted by someone behind Smith calling, "Skipper, there you are. I've been meaning to talk to you." Smith, more than a little peeved at the interruption, turned around to see standing behind him the walking uniform violation that was the heavy cruiser Houston. Smith groaned when he saw the black cowboy hat perched on Houston's head, the red bandanna tied around her neck, the cowboy boots, and the leather holster on her hip, with what looked like a Colt .45 Single Action Army revolver stuck inside.

"What is it Houston, I'm a bit busy right now," Smith said, trying not to let the irritation he felt sneak into his voice, "And you need to get rid of that getup before the IG gets here."

"What's wrong with my duds?" Houston asked a bit indignantly.

"Beside the fact that I don't even think you're wearing a uniform under all that? An inspector would take one look at you, and fail the entire cruiser fleet for cause," Smith said, "What is it you want again?"

"I just want to know what you want me to do around here," Houston said, "I know we've got the big inspection and all, but with the rest of the cruisers gone, no one has given me anything to do."

Smith thought about a reply for a second, then remembered something, "You used to lead the Asiatic Fleet right?"

"Yeah."

"And DesRon 29 was a part of you fleet, am I right?" upon seeing Houston's nod of acknowledgement, Smith continued, "The girls of DesRon 29 haven't finished filling out their personnel files yet. Could you go find them and tell them to come see me?"

"I think I can handle that," Houston said, "Later skipper."

"Energetic one she is," Enterprise muttered.

"Quite," Smith agreed, "Now send over a girl to Chief Zimmerman's shop, and make sure all his equipment is ready for the inspection. After that send someone over to Dr. Richter's warehouse and make sure he shuts that machine of his off for the time being. We don't need new girls in the middle of this."

Enterprise scribbled a few notes down on the clipboard that she was carrying and asked, "What do we do about Submarine Island?"

Smith grabbed his chin in thought, then said, "Send someone over to inventory the contents of their supply shed, then fill out the necessary requisition slips for all of it, appropriately backdated of course."

"Sir," Enterprise said incredulously, "Put false information on requisitions?"  
"I'm giving Wahoo the benefit of the doubt," Smith explained, "I'm sure that she would have properly filled out the forms herself, if she had a girl who knew how. Speaking of which, make a note to assign a yeoman to Wahoo's command as soon as they get back."

"Any idea where they are?" Enterprise asked while she added another note.

"Should be a couple hundred miles along by now," Smith said looking at his watch and making a quick calculation, "No news as of yet, but they're under orders to keep radio silence. We don't know if the Abyssals have radio direction finding capability, and it's best to be cautious in this situation."

"Right," Enterprise acknowledged, "Anything else for me to deal with, sir?"

"That's all I can think of now, I need to go take a look through our files and make sure they're in order," Smit said.

Enterprise was about to say something when she was cut off by someone behind her shouting, "Captain, tell this maniac to let me go." Smith turned to see who it was, and immediately wished he hadn't. Houston had returned, with one of the _Clemson_s—Pope if he remembered right—tied up and slung over her shoulder. "Lemme go, will you. Come on lemme go," Pope pleaded. Houston marched up to Smith, and set Pope on her feet in front of him.

"One four piper ready for paperwork," Houston announced with pride. Smith pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance

"What the hell did you do Houston, throw a lasso around her shoulders?" Smith asked, checking Pope over to make sure that the small girl was alright. Houston didn't say anything, but the look in her eyes told Smith all he needed to know, "You did didn't you? Houston this is too much, even for you."

"You told me to bring you the tin can, you never said how," Houston pointed out.

"Houston, go to supply, get a set of summer whites, and put them on. The next time I see you, you better be in uniform," Smith said.

"But skip…" Houston tried to protest.

"No but nothing. I gave you a direct order sailor, do you read me?" Smith said in a tone that meant he was finished with discussion.

"Aye aye, skipper," Houston said sullenly, and then walked away.

Smith turned to Pope still standing in front of him, and asked, "You okay Pope?"

"I'll be fine captain, just a little shaken," she said with a sniffle.

"Could you do something for me?" Smith asked.

"Wha-what is it?" she replied.

"I need you and your sisters to fill out some forms for me, could you go find them and tell them to head down to the main HQ?" Smith detailed.

"Yes sir, I can do that," she said.

"Good, now off you go," Smith said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder before she ran off.

"Now that was interesting," Enterprise said.

"I was this close to putting that girl on report," Smith said, holding out a hand with his thumb and forefinger almost touching, "If she steps out of line so much as once more, she will be going on report. Now go deal with that list, I'm going to swing by the commo shack and check in on the _Halsey _and send an updated map for the subs."

"Aye aye, sir," Enterprise said, then raised her arm in salute. Smith returned it quickly, and Enterprise walked off towards Chief Zimmerman's shop.

"It's like I'm in command of a high school at times," Smith muttered as he walked away.

**Pacific Ocean**, **1300**

Wahoo couldn't decide at the moment if she wanted to praise her luck, or curse it. After cruising on the surface for a day and a half, the little task force of submarines had picked up an Abyssal convoy on radar. Wahoo had ordered her girls to dive, keeping tabs on the Abyssals via passive sonar. After a bit of debate, it had been decided to set up an intercept course with the convoy. In order to, at least, get a good look at the composition of forces, and maybe take a shot. They had given the convoy a good thirty minutes time in order to get into position, and now Wahoo had ascended up to periscope depth in order to take a look topside. The periscope in question was a handheld version of her old attack scope with a pad on the bottom that could allow her to brace it against her chest.

She lifted the thing out of he water, and took a look through the eyepiece. She could see the convoy alright, and if she had been on the surface, she would have let out a whoop of joy. The convoy was in a perfect position for the subs to launch an attack. She reached down to detach the diver's slate off of her belt, and began to sketch the formation of the convoy on the piece of plastic. She counted at least six of those transport Abyssals, with two destroyers as escorts. As she was scanning, she felt a tap on her leg. She looked away from the periscope to see Tang floating in the water just beneath her, holding up a hand with a crooked forefinger, meaning that she wanted to ask a question.

One of the main problems that submarine girls faced, was how to communicate underwater. Radios don't work very well underwater, and even the ones that do emit a signal so powerful that anyone within thirty miles can pick it up clearly, indicating that there is a submarine in the area. Underwater telephones present a similar problem. The audio signal that they broadcast is more than enough for a destroyer with listening gear to home in on. So the problem became, how do you communicate non-verbally underwater?

Surprisingly it had been Captain Smith who had provided the answer. Smith had admitted that he was and experienced Scuba diver, and divers had faced this problem for years. Smith had taught the subs a very simple set of hand signals that could be used to convey a variety of different messages. Tang had used one now, and Wahoo replied by holding her hand up with the thumb and forefinger pinched together in a symbol of ok, meaning this case that Wahoo was ready for Tang's question.

Tang pointed a finger to the surface, and then cupped both hand together. This one meant, "Is there a boat on the surface?" and in this case meant, "Are there bad guys up there?"

Wahoo relied with another ok gesture, and then made a sweeping motion around herself, then held out a clenched fist with her thumb pointed upwards, followed by opening the fist to point at herself. She was saying, "Tell everyone to come up to my depth."

Tang replied with an exaggerated nod, then dove away. Soon the rest of the girls were floating around Wahoo, waiting for her to outline the plan.

For complicated planning like this, hand signals just weren't enough to convey the message. So this is where the slate came into play. As well as teaching the hand signals, Captain Smith had put in an order for assorted dive equipment that he though the subs could use. They were each wearing a nylon web belt with pockets full of gear. Each girl had in their belt a waterproof flashlight, a noisemaker for signaling, a dive knife, a dive watch, a wrist compass, and a diver's slate. A diver's slate was a square of white plastic with a grease pencil tied to it with a retention lanyard. A message could be scrawled out on the slate, and then easily erased by wiping it off with a cloth. Wahoo actually had two slates in her gear, a smaller one strapped to her wrist for quick notes, and one the size of a sheet of paper for writing out maps and plans.

It had been this one which she had scrawled the convoy diagram on. She took one last look through the periscope to make sure that the drawing was still correct, and then marked two of the Abyssals on the map, indicating the convoy's escorts, a pair of destroyers on either side of the formation. She looked around at the girls assembled around her, then pointed at Harder and then Sealion. She then held both of her forefingers up in front of her, pressing them together lengthwise, which deciphered as, "Harder and Sealion, I want you two to buddy up." Wahoo repeated the gesture with Darter and Dace, then pointed at Tang and herself, splitting the sub girls up into three groups. Then by writing on her map, she explained that the convoy was moving in a roughly westerly course, at about four knots, and they were located north of the convoy.

She pointed at Harder, then circled two Abyssals on her map, meaning that Harder's group was attack those two Abyssals first. She made a similar indication for Darter, drawing a circle around two different Abyssals. Finally, she pointed to Tang, and circled the last two Abyssals. Once it was clear that the girls understood the sailing orders, Wahoo held up her diving computer, and pointed to the clock displayed on the face. The dive computers had been another piece of gear that Smith had requisitioned for them. It was a piece of plastic about the size and shape of a hockey puck that each girl wore on her wrist. On the face there was a clear LCD screen that could display a wealth of information, such as current time, time underwater, current depth, a compass heading, ambient water temperature, and nitrogen saturation. That last part didn't really apply to them because they weren't taking air from a tank, but the rest of the computer's functions were extremely useful.

When Wahoo pointed to the computer, she was saying that she wanted the girls to wait until a specific time to attack. She wrote down 1345 on the slate, a time about thirty minutes from now. Plenty of time for everyone to get into position and calculate firing solutions. She held up another ok sign, but this time it was a question, literally, "Is everyone okay—with the plan?"

The rest of them held up ok signs of their own, then began to swim towards their targets. Tang swam up next to Wahoo, and lifted her own periscope above the water. Wahoo tapped twice on Tang's back, indicating that she wanted the other submarine to attack the second Abyssal in the column. She began to set up a solution on the third Abyssals in the column using her equipment mounted torpedo data computer, and then waited. She lifted her torpedo tubes up to firing position. There were six tubes in total, mounted in a pair of ship's bows that were mounted to her hips.

As soon as her computer ticked to 1345, she pressed the firing button on two of her tubes, sending two gleaming Mk 14 torpedoes lancing off into the distance. A second later, she could hear Tang firing her own torpedoes. Wahoo watched through her periscope as she counted down the seconds to impact. At the exact second she had calculated, two towering geysers erupted from the water beneath her target. It began to list to port and lost all headway, obviously mortally wounded. As she watched, several other torpedoes found their marks. In seconds six of the seven transports in the convoy were hit and sinking, and one of the destroyers had rolled over, dead.

Then Wahoo heard the sound that could scare any submariner, the high pitched pinging of an active sonar set. The second destroyer had dodged the torpedoes fired at it, and was now saturating the area with sonar pings, trying to find the subs. Wahoo grabbed Tang's shoulder and jerked a thumb downwards. The message was clear, and Tang began to dive was fast as she could, trying to get below the thermocline and hide from the sonar. Wahoo stayed at periscope depth just long enough to see the other four subs come up to her, then dive. She was starting to head down herself, when she heard a sound that sent shivers down her spine, the sound of an ash can exploding in the distance.

She hadn't even known that the Abyssals had depth charges, but when she looked towards the surface, there was the form of a destroyer right above her. It had obviously found her with its sonar and was trying to hit her with a depth charge. Wahoo watched with horror as one of the cylindrical ash cans tumbled into the water, right above her. She tried as hard as she could to get out of its path, but it detonated less than twenty feet away, the concussive shockwave it created slamming into her like a sledgehammer. She was sent tumbling for a few seconds before she could regain her bearings and resume her dive.

She felt the temperature of the water noticeably drop as she dropped beneath the thermocline, and looked around for the rest of the subs. Visibility was good today, about 40 feet, and she spotted the other subs with ease. They waited there in the depth, not daring to make a sound, as the destroyer dropped several dozen depth charges. It felt like two years had passed, but it was probably closer to twenty minutes before the sonar pinging ceased, and the depth charges stopped coming. Wahoo gave the destroyer another twenty minutes to get clear, then pointed upwards, telling her girls to surface.

Wahoo broke the surface five minutes later, and filled her lungs with a deep breath of air, the first breath of fresh air she had taken in over six hours. She watched as the rest of the subs broached around her, then she said breathing hard, "Everyone okay?"

"We're fine skipper," replied Tang, "Good to go."

"Good hits everyone, seven out of nine," Wahoo said, "That's pretty good odds if I do say so. By the way, who got the tin can?" Harder slowly raised her hand and Wahoo chuckled, "Why am I not surprised?" Wahoo reached to her bag and pulled out her waterproof GPS unit, then said, "Alright campers, steer course 290, all ahead standard."

The subs replied with, "Aye skipper," then they began to cruise southwest along the surface.

**Headquarters NS Midway Island**

Currently Smith's office looked like a tornado had swept through it. There were stacks of paper spread out everywhere, it looked to the world like someone had chucked a grenade in Smith's filing cabinets. He was in the process of examining his files for errors, trying to catch all of them now. He was sitting at his desk with a personnel records jacket in one hand, and a lukewarm cup of coffee in the other. The phone on his desk rang, causing him to drop the file in a stack of others just like it. "Smith," he answered.

"Captain, this is Air Controlman Conners down at flight control. I have a plane about ten minutes out, call sign Convoy two-seven-niner. They want permission to land," the voice on the other end explained.

"Do they have a flight plan?" Smith asked.

"I don't know sir, I'll check," Conners' voice went off the phone and Smith could hear the sounds of furious typing as he tried to pull up the relevant information on his workstation. "Sir," he replied a minute later, "It was just forwarded to me from Pearl. It checks out."

"Then tell him he has permission to land," Smith ordered.

"Aye captain," Smith heard the line go dead as Conners hung up. _A Convoy flight? It can't be the IG, they're not due for another two days, but who could it be?_ Smith thought as he pushed up from his desk and started to walk towards the airfield.

"Hey Captain, you hear about our visitor?" Smith turned to see that Commander Walker had walked up to join him.

"It's a Convoy flight, so I have no idea who it is, but I hope that it's not the IG," Smit remarked.

"Can't be, they'd use an Air Force transport from the West Coast, not a Navy transport from Pearl," Walker explained.

"Then who is it?" Smith asked.

"We're about to see," Walker said pointing at a rapidly approaching airplane, "There she is. Uh oh Captain, looks like the big brass."

"How so?" Smith asked.

"It's a C-37," Walker explained, then quickly clarified, "Navy version of a Gulfstream V. Only the big brass gets to use those." Smith watched as the business jet painted in Navy grey touched down on the main runway, and then taxied over to the parking apron where Smith and Walker were standing. The door was opened from inside, and the airstairs folded down.

Smith was unconsciously bracing himself for whoever came out of the plane, but not even he expected Admiral Steven Davies to step out the door and say, "So this is Midway a bit bigger than I remembered." Smith was dumbfounded at the sight of Davies. He finally remembered tradition, and raised a salute, which Davies returned saying, "Hello Captain, it's good to see you again."

"Sir, what are you doing here?" Smith asked.

"Simple son, politics," Davies explained cryptically, "And it has to do something with these, and my new job." Davies reached up to flick his rank devices. Smith noticed them for the first time. The last time Smith had seen him, Davies had held the rank of Rear Admiral Upper Half, a two star admiral. Davies now had three, silver stars on each of his collar points, indicating that he had been promoted to Vice Admiral. "With all the crap that's been flying around at 3rd Fleet HQ, CINCPAC decided that it was time for a new G-2 intelligence officer. My name came up top of the list of candidates. The third star came with the appointment," Davies explained.

"What about you shop, the Office of Management Analysis?" Smith asked.

"It got turned over to a bright young Marine Lieutenant Colonel named Harte," Davies said with a wink, "Only real choice if you ask me."

"So what is the 3rd Fleet Intel officer doing here?" Smit asked.

"Simple, politics," Davies repeated, "As a result of the crap that's being thrown at you from all sides, Secretary of the Navy Johnson—who's on your side by the way—decided that you need a liaison. Someone who speaks with his direct authority, and reports to no one but him."

"I assume this liaison came with you?" Smith asked.

"You would be correct there. She was a sub skipper previously, and my personal recommendation to the SecNav for the position," Davies said.

Something clicked in Smith's mind, "Sir you don't mean…"

He was cut off as another officer stepped out onto the air stairs and said, "James Smith, what is this I hear about you running a base full of young women?" Captain James Smith looked up at the C-37 to see none other than Sarah Smith standing in the door.

"But Admiral, doesn't this break frat regs?" Smith asked.

"Nope," Davies said with a smile, "Best part about her position is that because she reports directly to the SecNav, she's not in you chain of command."

"And a fact I intend to abuse often," Sarah said as she walked down the stairs towards her husband, "My job here, is to make sure that you don't get stalled by the feather merchants back in Pearl and Washington, and that your program gets everything you need."

"Now, where can a washed up old admiral get a bite to eat around here," Davies said, clapping a hand on Smith's shoulder.

"The wardroom should have something ready," Smith said.

"Well I'll leave you three to catch up," Walker announced, "Good to see you again Sarah."

"Charles, I don't think I've seen you since Annapolis," Sarah said.

"Diego ma'am, you and the Captain took me to dinner just before this whole mess started,' Walker corrected, "Well, I'll be going, I have a division to shape up, and a PBY engine to put back together." Walker gave Davies a salute, then walked off.

"PBY?" Davies asked.

"We found the thing in one of the old hangers, been trying to get it flying again," Smith explained, "If you will follow me sir, the wardroom is this way.

Smith began to walk forward, when he was stopped by Fletcher running up, "Sir," she said, panting with exertion, "We have a problem."

"What is it?" Smith asked.

"I just held muster, and some of the destroyers are missing," Fletcher explained.

"Is this one of those girls you mentioned?" Sarah asked.

"Yes, this is the destroyer Fletcher," Smith said, then turned back to the destroyer, "Who's missing?"

"William D. Porter and Samuel B. Robert," Fletcher replied.

Smith's face paled, _Why Sammy, why are you trying to pull something now of all times._ "I'm sorry admiral, I'm going to have to deal with this before lunch, if you will excuse me. The mess is just down that path and to the right, should be a sign out front."

"I can understand the interruption Captain. Come by and see me as soon as you're done here, I need to talk to you about something," Davies said.

"Aye aye, sir, I'll be back in a bit," Smith said, "Now where do you think they are." He said then let Fletcher lead him off.

**Author's Note: **Well that only took forever and an age to finish. I think I know why no one ever does subs on combat now, I hope the way I did things was at least partially understandable. I know I cut this off a little before I said I would (mostly with the _Halsey _not getting to Japan yet) but I came up with so much stuff for that trip, that it'll likely fill and entire chapter.

As to the WoWS snip in the last chapter, a good portion of the American fanbase became introduced to Kancolle through WoWS. (I know I was with the whole poi spamming of the early beta) So I thought it was a good thing to throw in.

**Addendum: **Skipped a page of reviews by accident, added in responses.

Review responses:

Thorthemighty321: Yeah, I love WoWS, and it was gonna come up eventually.

NVA Commander Taney-Chan: Both of those fall under the museum ship issue, which I need to resolve, but is going to be a complete pain at the same time.

Wolfman-053: Yes, why yes it is.

rstlss1: I like your idea about P-cola, but unfortunately, I couldn't write her in in this chapter, but she will have a role next chapter.

c0dy88: Taffy 3 is a bit of an issue because it was only a temporary unit. It was never meant to last longer than a few weeks, and the ships it was comprised of were stolen from half a dozen different units. When I start bringing in CVEs we will see some of the Taffy 3 carriers in the first batch.

FANFIC HUNTER: I agree about Willy D, as I put it on spacebattles, she's the one that always tries the hardest, but has the absolute worst luck and always screws up, but never does it on purpose.

Guest: Well if you think of anything lemme know.

Guest (2): I thank you for the praise, hope you like the update.

gensolo: Again another museum ship, I think I know a way to resolve it(for a few ships at least) but it'll be at least another chapter.

RDFox: Trying to stay away from cold war ships at the moment, mainly because of game breaking, and also because there's no proviso for them in the "official" cannon. I will be abusing the few ships I have that did get cold war weapons, but no one's getting 200 mile wave-skimming cruise missiles (well except the regular ships).

FrancisJames: I agree about the German ships, who knows, maybe Bismarck and her girls haven't made their trip to Japan yet, also Sammy, oh boy Sammy, if you can guess by the cutoff, she's getting a big scene next chapter.

PanzerIVAusfH: I do actually have plans for the reactivated _Iowa_s in the story (Well two of them at least, but I will be getting into that next chapter)

hfdt123: The _Alaska_s oh lord the _Alaska_s, they will be fun to play with, and I might bring them in later.

Russian guest: Trying to keep things moving, I have a few long range plans that still need to be set up.

Colonel Amiruddin Arif: Thanks for the catch, I literally found that right as I was uploading.

NCGaming: There will be some, intended for it to happen in this chapter, but it would have delayed publishing by about a week.

Jedii: Well, I finally got all my computer issues worked out, so it might progress a bit faster now.

Hungrykiwi: They're good books, very much an alternate history series, and I love the fact that the author actually knows what he's talking about in relation to weapons and ships.

SulliMike23: Well yeah, not a lot of stereotypes besides that to pull for Houston.


	11. Chapter 10

**Please note that part of this chapter has been re-written, the end is quite a bit different from the last submission**

**NS Midway Island, June, 25, 2018**

"Look Willy, this is easy. All you have to do is point your tubes at the target, and shoot," explained the destroyer escort Samuel B. Roberts.

"It's just that… it's just that I don't like torpedoes," replied the destroyer William D. Porter. Sammy looked over at the _Fletcher_ girl with a disbelieving look.

"But you're a destroyer, your main armament are your torpedoes," Sammy said. She was currently sailing next to Willy Dee as they approached the torpedo training range. Of all the unusual friendships that had formed between the girls of Midway Island, the pair of Samuel B. Roberts and William D. Porter was perhaps the most unexpected. The two girls had absolutely nothing in common. Sammy, with her destroyer escort lineage, was a small, slip of a girl at barely four foot nothing and one hundred pounds, but she had a reckless streak a country mile wide. This was displayed in her choice of uniform.

In the past few weeks, Captain Smith had started to relax the uniform restrictions for the ship girls, allowing them to choose the uniform that fit best for them. Sammy had chosen to wear old style Marine dungarees. The sage green jacket and pants were just a bit too large for her small frame, and had to be cut down to fit. No one knew why Sammy had decided to wear the Marine uniform other than the fact that it looked "salty." She had even neglected to remove the stenciled eagle, globe, and anchor off the breast pocket, and had stenciled her rank stripes on the sleeve in black paint, just like a Marine. The ensemble was topped off with a matching green field cap with black patch sewed to the face. It depicted the silhouette of a destroyer escort, and had the words "USS _Samuel B. Roberts_," stitched across the top in gold thread. It was similar to the ship specific veteran's ball caps that had been cropping up more and more around the base.

On the other hand, William D. Porter cut a much different figure. She had the _Fletcher _build and bearing that so many girls on the base shared, and she also wore dungarees. But she wore Navy dungarees consisting of a blue, long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans. Unlike Sammy, Willy Dee didn't have any rank stripes, being just a simple seaman apprentice, so the only markings on Willy's uniform were the legends, "US Navy," stenciled above the left pocket and, "W. D. Porter," written above the right. On her head she wore one of the now ubiquitous white, dixie cup hats.

Willy Dee and Sammy also differed greatly in terms of personality. While Sammy was brash and sure of her abilities, Willy tended to be more timid and fearful of her own strengths. There was a bit of rationality in this fear, due in part to her past service as a warship, and also due to the fact that on the day she was released into active service, she fell down two flights of stairs, tripped into a 55-gallon drum filled with stale grease, spilled coffee in Enterprise's lap, and managed to knock the captain off the end of a pier into the lagoon. These events had earned her the reputation of being a bearer of bad luck, and made everyone avoid her at all costs. In fact, the only girl that would even spend an extended amount of time near Willy Dee was Sammy.

Due to her lack of self-confidence, Willy now had the lowest combat effectiveness scores on the base. Sammy had made it her personal mission to help the destroyer improve her scores. That was what they were doing now, working on improving Willy's torpedo accuracy. "Okay, look, just watch what I do, and copy me," Sammy said. She lined up on one of the target boats, an aluminum skiff with a quarter-inch steel plate welded to the side in order to serve as a target face. Then she did something unexpected, she reached into her holster and drew her side arm. Along with relaxing the uniform restrictions, Captain Smith had given permission for the ship girls to arm themselves however they wished. Sammy had almost immediately taken the captain up on this, putting in a requisition for a very special pistol. The handgun was an enormous, black revolver with a long barrel.

"What is that?" Willy asked, a note of awe in her voice."

"This," said Sammy as she leveled the handgun, "Is the Smith &amp; Wesson Model 29. It is a six shot revolver chambered in .44 Magnum, and this one comes with a handy 6-1/2" barrel."

"And what are you doing with it?" Willy asked.

"Using it to get the range to the target," Sammy replied, "I have the sights set so that the round will mimic the range of a torpedo."

"Is that the way to range a torpedo?" Willy asked confused.

"No, use your torpedo director for that," Sammy replied, "I just think that this way is more fun. Now hush, I'm trying to concentrate." Sammy let out a half-breath, and then cleanly squeezed the trigger. The revolver barked and the .44 slug was sent hurtling towards the target plate. It rang off the bottom and left behind a large, impact mark, indicating to Sammy that she was in range for a torpedo salvo. "Okay, this is where the fun starts," she said, and quickly re-holstered her pistol. She then took off along a parallel course to the target boat. When she was at about a 45 degree bearing to the target, she squeezed the trigger for her first tube. A gleaming 21" Mk 15 torpedo spat out of her tube mount and hit the water with a dull slap. Normally she would have fired all three of her loaded torpedoes at once, but this was an exercise about accuracy, not hit percentage.

Once the first fish was on its way, Sammy continued on her course, waiting until she was abeam the target before firing the second torpedo. Finally waiting until she was 45 degrees ahead of the target to fire off her last torpedo. With all tube expended and three fish in the water, all that was left to do was to wait and see if her accuracy was on. At this range it would take the torpedoes about twenty seconds to strike the target, and, sure enough, at the expected time, the first bubble trail intersected with the target boat. The torpedoes that Sammy had fired were only practice rounds, being fitted with a paint warhead instead of an actual explosive. When the torpedo struck its target, a bright red paint mark was left on the steel plate.

"One hit," Sammy yelled, followed a few seconds later by, "Two hits," as the second torpedo struck its mark. Then Sammy watched in horror as the third torpedo leaped into the air, before slamming back down with a splash. The action threw off the torpedo's course, and it veered off into the distance, completely missing the target. "Damn," Sammy cursed loudly.

"Two out of three, that's not bad," said Willy as she sailed up to Sammy's side.

"Would have been three out of three if it weren't for these crummy fish," Sammy spat angrily.

"Oh, you know as good as I do, porpoising doesn't have anything to do with the actual torpedo most of the time. It has to do with the launch angle," Willy said.  
"I guess," Sammy said, "But still…" She then looked straight at Willy and said, "Your turn Willy Dee, show me what you've got."

Willy hesitantly looked at the target boat, and then back to Sammy, saying, "I don't think I can do this."

"Oh come on will you, you don't have to do it the way I did, just try to hit the thing once," Sammy replied.

"Okay…" Willy started to say, but was cut off as they heard a sound of an engine coming from the shore. The destroyer torpedo range was set up in the water about fifteen feet from the shoreline, in fact, it shared water with the destroyer gunnery range, with several shooting stations set up on the shore. Sammy looked over to the shore just in time to see a green, camo Humvee come bouncing into the range enclosure, and skid to a stop at the top of the concrete ramp used to enter and exit the water.

She watched in wide-eyed horror as Captain Smith jumped out of the driver's side door and yelled, "Samuel B. Roberts, what the hell are you doing?" Sammy jumped back in surprise at the challenge, and smacked right into Willy. The larger girl was sent sprawling backwards. When Willy hit the water, Sammy heard the unmistakable sound of a torpedo tube impulse charge firing. She looked over her shoulder to see a torpedo fling itself out of Willy's tubes, and splash into the water. Sammy watched in stunned surprise as the torpedo carved out a course in the water, straight towards Captain Smith's Humvee.

"Sir," she tried to yell, "Sir, there's a torpedo."

"What the hell are you two doing with torpedoes out here? There is a reason why you can't be out here with supervision," he yelled back, "Now you two get over here, and we'll have a talk about this."

"No, sir, there's a torpedo in the water," Willy yelled, "And it's headed straight for you!" Smith's good eye grew wide and he looked down at the water's surface to see the torpedo's bubble trail connect with the bottom of the ramp. They all watched as the torpedo skipped out of the water and skidded up the ramp on its built up momentum. It reached the top of the ramp and bumped into the Humvee's tire. Even though the practice torpedoes don't have torpex warheads, they do have a small bursting charge. Designed to evenly spread the paint charge over a hit target, the bursting charge was triggered by a contact plate on the nose of the torpedo.

When the errant fish bumped into the Humvee's tire, it was with enough force to trigger the charge. A cloud of red paint exploded from the torpedo and splattered everything in a six foot radius with the marker paint. Including the ramp, the Humvee, and Captain Smith. "Holy crap Willy, you just sunk a truck," Sammy said.

Captain Smith stood still for a second, covered from head to toe in red paint, then said, in a chillingly quiet voice, "Samuel B. Roberts and William D. Porter, you will consider yourselves on report from this moment forward. Get your asses to the destroyer barracks, now!"

"Yes, sir," Willy squeaked, then sailed as fast as she could back to the shore. Sammy simply groaned, then slowly made her way back to shore.

"And the bad luck comes again," Sammy muttered as she walked up the ramp.

* * *

Luckily the training paint had been designed with easy cleanup in mind. All Smith had to do was shower it out and change uniforms. All told, it took less than half an hour to remove all traces of the red paint. Smith made his way directly to the club after he had finished making himself a bit more presentable. As expected, he saw Admiral Davies sitting at one of the tables in the back of the room, a half-empty drink sitting on the table in front of him. "Where have you been?" Davies asked after Smith lowered himself into the seat next to him.

"Trying to wash off red paint," Smith replied, nonchalantly.

"I sense a story behind that remark, captain," Davies said, taking a sip from his drink.

"There is, but first," Smith leaned over to get the attention of the bartender, "Scotch, neat," he ordered. The sailor manning the bar nodded to say that he had received Smith's order, and began to pour the drink. Davies shot Smith a questioning look, as if to ask why he was drinking while still technically on duty. Smith decided to answer the unasked question, "Admiral, I have been on duty for forty-eight hours straight, I have two combat teams deployed at the moment, have been trying to juggle personnel forms, and now I have a pair of destroyers that thought it would be a good idea to steal a crate of practice torpedoes. I think I rate a drink, admiral."

"So that's where the paint came from?" Davies asked. The bartender came over and placed a glass in front of Smith, he thanked the man, and took a long sip.

Replacing the glass, Smith replied, "Yes, our practice shots are loaded with a red, water based paint. One of them was accidentally fired at me, it skipped up a ramp, and went off under my Humvee. Splattering paint all over it, and me."

"May I ask which girl fired this torpedo," Davies asked, trying to stifle a laugh.

Smith shot the Admiral a scathing look, and answered, "William D. Porter fired the fish, but she wasn't the one who stole it in the first place. No, that distinction goes to Samuel B. Roberts."

"Does William D. Porter the same bad luck that she had back in the day?" Davies asked.

"Pretty much," Smith said levelly, then added, "I don't know why they thought that it would be a god idea to pull a stunt like that, with the IG visit around the corner and everything."

Davies tone immediately changed when he asked, "What IG visit?"

"My base has been scheduled to be graced by the prescience of the IG from Washington," Smith explained. Seeing a look of confusion on Davies face, he added, "You didn't know?"

"No," Davies replied, "There hasn't been a request for inspection cleared through 3rd Fleet HQ, this must have come down from someone in the Pentagon."

"Any idea who?" Smith asked.

"A few ideas," Davies replied, then added, "But I'd rather retain plausible deniability on that subject, "But that does lead into the real reason for my visit here."

"And that would be?"

"I've told you how there are two factions forming in the upper echelons of the military, those who oppose this program, and those who don't," Davies said, "Well, it's a bit more complicated than that. The damn politicos are starting to become vested in this program."

"Who?" Smith asked, "The secretary of defense?"

"Bit higher than that, son," Davies said.

"Congress?" Smith asked again.

"Well, yes, they are involved, but I'm thinking higher," Davies said, then took a large swig of his drink, "The President has stated a genuine interest in your program. He thinks that it's just the ticket to beat back the Abyssals, and score him much needed publicity points in the process."

"What do you mean?" Smith asked, apprehensively.

"We're about to go public, son. We are going to reveal the nature of the ship girls to the general public. They already know about the Japanese program, and the Europeans went public with theirs a few days ago. You're going to show the American public that we have a program in place, just like the rest of the world."

"But sir," Smith protested, "Why are we revealing our program? Wouldn't that wreck operational security?"

"Operational security doesn't mean shit to an enemy that doesn't understand the concept of espionage," Davies said curtly, "And think about what would happen if the damned fourth estate got wind of what we're doing out here, and broadcast it for the world to see. We would be left cleaning up a political shit-storm of epic proportions."

"I don't understand, sir," Smith said, confused.

"The general public doesn't really know what the shipgirls are," Davies said, "They've seen them before in news broadcasts, but it really hasn't been discussed what exactly they are. To most of the public, the ship girls are nothing more than normal girls, and you know how big a problem the American public can make out of nothing."

"But sir, they're not normal girls," Smith said

"You know that, I know that, but the public doesn't know that. That's why we have to release this story on our terms," Davies announced.

"What do you have in mind, sir?" Smith asked.

"A press conference, son. We—I'm talking about myself and CINCPAC here—want you to hold a press conference in Pearl next week, with yourself and a few of your girls. Explain to the public just who our ship girls are," Davies explained.

"But sir, I can't leave the base," Smith replied, "We have combat teams in the field, we're about to begin full time operations, the damn IG will show up in a few days, and I have new girls to train. Can't I send someone else in my stead?"  
Davies leaned back in his chair and said, "Son, the name, 'Captain James Smith' is already ingrained in the public mindset. To them, you are the hero of the Battle off Johnston Atoll." Smith groaned, predicting where this line of discussion was headed the instant Davies mentioned the island where his ship was sunk, "What you did with that tin can of yours, probably saved hundreds of lives."

"Sir, I was just doing my job…" Smith interrupted.

"Stow that BS right now," Davies cut him off, "You are a hero in the public's eyes, and if it was announced that you are the commander of the ship girl program, it would do wonders to increase its popularity."

"I'm no hero," Smith said wistfully "I'm just a washed up captain who's too broken to hold my own command anymore," he then threw back the rest of his drink, downing it in one gulp.

"Well, don't let the cameras see that," Davies remarked.

"Who do you want at this press conference anyway?" Smith asked.

"Yourself for one, Enterprise public would love to meet her, and three or four other girls of your choosing. Hopefully ones who could be trusted not to embarrass the USN on camera," Davies said.

"Admiral, if you have no other bombs to drop on my head, I have an IG inspection to prepare for," Smith said, standing up from his seat.

"Hopefully you get one of the good ones," Davies replied, "One who will ignore the crap and do his job without bias."

"We can only hope," Smith said, "Goodbye, sir."

"Goodbye captain" Davies replied. Smith walked out of the club, muttering curses to every politician, he could remember the name of.

* * *

**Officer's Wardroom**

Commander Sarah Smith was still amazed by this base. To think that the young girls she walked past outside, or sat next to in the mess were actually the spirits of warships, it was mind boggling. But for everything different on this base, there were still some things that never changed no matter where one went. Such as the fact that the officer's wardroom always had the best coffee on the base. She was currently playing a little game with herself, trying to figure out which women in the room were in fact, ship girls. Around the base it was fairly easy to spot the ship girls, they were usually the youngest girls around, and they wore all sorts of different outfits. While all still wearing uniforms, they seemed to prefer to wear older or more unique uniforms.

That was the enlisted girls, the ones holding officer rank tended to act and dress more in line with the regular Navy types. Of the women in the wardroom, she had positively pegged two of them as ship girls, but which ship they were was still a mystery to her. She was a bit surprised when a woman wearing the uniform and insignia of a full lieutenant came into the room, and walked up to the counter where Sarah was seated. She grabbed the stool next to Sarah, and asked the cook, "Seaman, could you make me a cup of coffee please?"

"Comin right up, Miss Enterprise," the culinary specialist behind the counter said, then disappeared into the kitchen. Sarah was a bit shocked, she had heard that Enterprise was on the base, but she wasn't expecting her to be a twenty something blonde with a tall frame and an attractive figure. Enterprise seemed to take notice of Sarah at the same time. "Commander," she greeted after reading Sarah's rank devices.

"Lieutenant," Sarah replied out of habit.

"You're new here aren't you, commander?" Enterprise said after looking over Sarah for a second, "I don't think I've seen you around the base before now."

"I just came in with the Admiral," Sarah replied, then held out her hand, "Sarah Smith."

Enterprise took the hand and replied, "Lieutenant Enterprise."

"So you're Enterprise," Sarah said, "I've heard so much about you."

Sarah caught a slight cringe in Enterprise's features as she asked, "What have you heard, commander?"

"Oh, nothing bad I can assure you," Sarah replied, with a slight laugh.

The cook came out of the kitchen and placed a mug of coffee in front of Enterprise, and then asked, "Is that all, ma'am?" Enterprise replied with a nod, then began to sip at the steaming liquid.

"Enterprise, I insist that you call me Sarah, we're friends here," Sarah said after Enterprise had replaced the mug on the table, "Smith if you must."

A look of puzzlement came over Enterprise's face and she asked, "Are you related to Captain Smith at all?"

"Yes, I am, but not by blood," Sarah replied. Now Enterprise looked completely confused, Sarah clarified, "I am related to James Smith by holy matrimony." Seeing that Enterprise was still confused, Sarah sighed, and then said, "I am Captain Smith's wife."

Enterprise's eyes went wide at that, and she asked, "But, I thought it was against regulations for married couples to serve on the same base?"

"It normally is, if they are in the same chain of command, but I am here as a special liaison officer from the office of the Secretary of the Navy," Sarah said, "The only chain of command that I am in at the moment is the secretary's."

"Just what exactly does a special liaison to the Secretary of the Navy do?" Enterprise asked.

"Part of it is reporting progress, sending informational reports back to the Secretary. The other half is using the Secretary's name to make sure you all aren't stonewalled by overeager bureaucrats in the Pentagon," Sarah explained, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Using the Secretary's name, come again?" Enterprise asked, confused.

"You would not believe how far people are willing to bend over backwards for a member of the Secretary's staff. It does wonders for blowtorching through the red tape," Sarah replied with a smile.

Enterprise looked at Sarah's uniform in thought for several seconds, then asked, "What did you do before you were a liaison?"

"Pardon me?"

"Your uniform, you're wearing dolphins. I know the warfare community pins, and the one you have on is for the submarine service," Enterprise said, pointing to her uniform.  
"Oh that, yes, I was in the silent service before I was transferred. I was even a pretty high ranking member of the submarine community, I had my own boat before they took it away," Sarah replied, tone growing somber.

"Why would they do that?" Enterprise asked.

"You only get to hold a command for so many years before they take it away from you," Sarah explained, "And my time was up." Enterprise nodded acceptance of this, and then leaned back. Sarah could tell that there was a question that the girl hadn't asked yet, and was puzzling over whether or not to speak up. Sarah didn't give her the option, "Something on your mind, Enterprise?"

"It's just," she replied, "It's just that I didn't even know that the captain was married."

"You mean to tell me, that he hasn't so much as let on the fact that he is married?" Sarah asked, a tone of surprise in her voice.

"No, he hasn't, but I guess I've never really come out and asked," Enterprise replied.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, then Sarah asked, "May I ask you a few questions?"

"Certainly com," Enterprise started to say, then caught herself, "Sarah."

"What's it like for you? Serving here on this base, with your background, I mean," Sarah asked.

"I would say it's different, but that really doesn't cover it all," Enterprise began, "Back then, I didn't have anything really to do, no responsibilities no duties. Just do what the crew ordered, and not sink. Now, well, now I have the responsibilities of an officer. I have to fill out forms, perform inspections, stand as the officer of the day, and lead girls in combat. I didn't think that I would be able to hack it at first."

"And now?"

"Now, I'm better. I have experience now, and the captain has been a great teacher. Leading me through every step, and helping me to be a better officer," Enterprise said, "I think that of all the officers I've met, Captain Smith was the perfect choice to command this base."

"That's my James alright," Sarah said, smiling, "Always looking out for his subordinates."

Enterprise's watch bleeped an alarm at her, she looked down at it, disgusted, "I have a meeting at the carrier barracks in five minutes. If you will pardon me, it was nice meeting you Sarah. I hope to see you around again."

"Nice meeting you too, Enterprise. Anyone who can keep my husband from drowning in paperwork is okay in my book," Sarah said as Enterprise stood up from the counter, and left the wardroom.

"It's kind of hard to fathom the fact that I just had a conversation with the USS Enterprise," Sarah muttered to herself, "But I guess that's sort of a regular occurrence on this base." She shook her head and went back to her coffee.

* * *

**USS _Halsey_, Mess Deck, June 27, 2018, 2145hrs**

For everything that had changed from what Johnston remembered, Navy food really hadn't improved all that much. It was still just as nasty and inedible as she remembered, well, as she remembered her crew complaining about. She was trying to decide whether or not to choke down the lump of meat the cooks had generously called a, "burger," when she heard someone ask, "Mind if I sit here?" Johnston looked up to see the carrier Hornet standing over her.

"Go ahead," she replied. Hornet pulled out the chair across from her and sit down. Johnston shot the bigger girl a questioning look as if she was asking her why she had decided to grace Johnston with her presence.

"I'm just trying to lay low for a bit, and you're the only ship girl in the room," Hornet said, answering the unasked question. "I, uh… I almost shot the captain," she said, hesitantly. Johnston simply raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't my fault," Hornet said quickly, "Well not completely."

"What did you do?" Johnston asked, dryly.

"Well, you see, we were on the fantail getting a little rifle training in, and I was doing pretty well. So then I hear someone behind me say, 'good job,' and I whipped around to see who it was, and accidentally put a bullet two inches above the captain's head," Hornet said, slamming her head down on the table.

"Could have been worse," Johnston quipped, "Could have hit the captain."

"Don't even joke like that," Hornet whined, then sat up and asked, "By the way, what was your name again? There are so many destroyers on the base that I keep getting them mixed up."

"Johnston," she replied. Hornet's eyes went wide and her mouth began to open and close in shock.

Johnston braced herself internally for the next question, because she knew exactly what it would be, "Johnston, the Johnston? Hero of Samar? Fighter of Japs? Slayer of battleships? I've heard so much about you." Johnston groaned. This was worse than cold teammates, or a crazy escort, Hornet was a fan.

"Yes, I'm her," Johnston replied.

"What was it like? To charge those battleships? It must have been so scary. I would have been completely frozen with fear," Hornet rambled. Johnston held up a hand, cutting off the carrier mid ramble.

"Yes, I was scared, but I had nothing to do with that charge. That was completely Captain Evans, not me," Johnston said, bluntly.

"But, you must have had something to do with it," Hornet said.

"Did you have anything to do with the Doolittle raid?" Johnston asked, changing the subject.

"What?"

"You know, the mission where they loaded your decks up with Army bombers, and sailed you right up to the Japanese mainland?" Johnston said.

"What does that have to do with charging battleships?" Hornet asked.

"Did you have any control over what happened then?" Johnston asked.

"Well, no."

"Were you scared for what was going to happen?' Johnston continued.

Something in Hornet's face changed. She suddenly looked older, sadder maybe. "Yes, I was, I was scared that we were going to be caught, and that I couldn't do anything to defend myself with those bombers filling my deck. I was scared when Doolittle took off, that he would never make it to Japan, and that those Army fliers would never make it home again. I was scared," Hornet said, her tone completely different.

"That," Johnston said, "Is what it felt like for me that day. No adrenaline fueled charge, no sense of patriotic duty, just fear. Fear that the boys that I had been protecting, would never be able to make it home again."

Hornet's face grew somber, and she said quietly, "I must have really made an ass of myself."

"No more than anyone else I've met so far," Johnston replied, "At least you get it."

"Yeah, sorry for starting off on the wrong foot," Hornet said, "I really do have the unfortunate knack of knowing exactly the wrong thing to say at all times."

"It's just that I'd like for some memories to stay just that, memories," Johnston said, "You must feel the same thing at times. I would like to make some new friends, so if you don't mind talking to a destroyer with past issues."

Hornet's face brightened, and she replied, "I would like that Johnston, if you don't mind talking to a carrier with past issues." Johnston was about to say something else, when Nicholas sat down at the table.

"Johnston," she said.

"Ensign," Johnston replied, "May I help you?"

Sensing the tension between the two destroyers, Hornet hastily said, "I have somewhere to be, see you later, Johnston." The jumped up and ran out.

"What was that all about?" Nicholas asked.

"Just talking about our pasts," Johnston replied, "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Now that you're an official member of DesRon 21, you need to look the part," Nicholas said.

"What do you mean?" Johnston asked, completely confused.

"Here," Nicholas said, sliding a bundle of clothes over the table, "This is the official DesRon 21 uniform." Johnston picked up the clothes and looked them over. It was a modified set of camouflage fatigues with a jagged grey, blue, and white pattern. She realized that it was a version of the measure 12(Modified) camouflage scheme.

"Thank you, ma'am," Johnston said, then asked, "Are they the right size?"

"Should be, most _Fletcher_ girls have the same build, so should fit," Nicholas replied.

Johnston thought of a potential problem and grimaced, "I was a square bridge." Johnston was referring to her old ship body. There were two main types of _Fletcher_ class destroyer built during the war. The round, or high, bridge _Fletcher_s had a tall rounded bridge structure. While, the square, or short, bridge ships had a smaller, more blocky superstructure. When the destroyer girls had started coming back, the round bridge _Fletcher_s were about two or three inches taller than the square bridge ships.

"That might make things difficult," Nicholas replied, "Well, we could always have the pants taken up if we have to."

"Thank you, ma'am," Johnston replied, "Is that all?"

"So far," Nicholas replied, "We have patrol duty in two hours, briefing is at 2100," Nicholas said.

"I'll be there," Johnston said.

"Make sure that you are," Nicholas said, then stood up to leave. Johnston looked down at the bundle of clothes in her hands, trying to figure out what that was all about.

_'A minor victory is still a victory'_, Johnston thought, then came to the decision that the food still on her plate was not worth finishing, and stood up to leave the mess hall herself. She barely made it two steps out the door when the general quarters alarm sounded.

* * *

**Combat Information Center**

Dakota was always amazed when she set foot in this room. The Combat Information Center, or CIC, was the tactical heart of the _Halsey_. In here were controls and displays to view and monitor every shred of information that was sucked in by the _Halsey_'s extensive AEGIS sensor suite. Dakota had made it a habit during the trip to stop in the room every night in order to check the tactical plot for their current location and any enemy contacts. It was normally frowned upon for personnel not currently working in the space to enter, but Dakota had quickly remedied this by always bringing a tray full of coffee mugs whenever she visited the CIC. The techs had quickly made an exception for her visits.

She was a bit surprised to see that Captain Jones was already in the room, standing over the tactical plot table. While not unheard of for the captain to be in the CIC, he normally preferred to stay on the bridge, and left running the CIC to the XO. "Is there something wrong, captain?" Dakota asked as she set the coffee tray on a table.

Captain Jones looked up from the tac plot and said, "Maybe, we really don't know." Dakota walked over to look at the table. The tac plot was really a large, touchscreen display installed in the top of a table. I could display real time information about the _Halsey_ and her surroundings. She could see the _Halsey_'s current position indicated by a light blue circle. Jones pointed to a different mark to the south of the _Halsey_'s position, it was a yellow box with a line extending from its center. "Sonar picked up a scent about half an hour ago," he explained, "We don't know for sure, but it could be an Abyssal task group."

"I thought we couldn't track the Abyssals?" Dakota asked.

"We can't," Jones replied, then added, "Not on the radar at least, but we can hear them just fine on sonar. Well, we can tell if they're there and get a general bearing."

"So what's this?" Dakota asked, tapping the yellow square, accidentally causing the screen to zoom in on it.

"This is the location of the sonar contact we picked up," Jones replied, and tapped the square once, causing a yellow circle to extend from its center, "And this the percent error. That contact is somewhere within that circle, we just don't know where. We have to have visual confirmation for that."

"Visual confirmation, isn't it dark topside?"

"That's why we have low light cameras," Jones said, then walked over to one of the main monitor screens against the wall, "Lieutenant, bring up the feed from the mast camera on this screen, please." Dakota watched as the screen's picture switched to that of a live camera feed, but she couldn't tell what it was of due to the fact that it was pitch black outside. "Now give me low light," Jones ordered. The picture suddenly took on a hazy green overlay as the camera switched modes. Dakota could now clearly make out the details of the _Halsey_'s stern and the sea just behind it. "Pan to bearing 220 now if you would," the picture began to shift as the camera panned.

"I don't see anything," Dakota said.

"Neither do I, can we get infrared?" Jones ordered. The picture shifted again, this time the image overlaid with false colors. Everything was dark blue, save for a cluster of bright yellow and orange blobs at the center of the screen.

Jones cursed and Dakota asked, "What is that?"

"That," Jones said, tapping the blobs with a finger, "is our mystery contact, an Abyssals task group. Sound general quarters."

"What do you want me to do?" Dakota asked as the GQ alarm started to sound throughout the ship.

"Get to your battle station, and get your girls in the water. I'll coordinate tactical information from up here," Jones replied.

"Right, see you later captain," Dakota said, then ran out of the room as fast as she could.

Jones turned to the camera feed, then asked, "Can someone get me a composition of forces? I don't want to send those girls into battle blind."

A few seconds later, one of the techs replied, "New tracks, designate sierras one through fifteen. Identified as three battleships Ru-class, six cruisers indeterminate class, and six destroyers also indeterminate."

"Get me a firing solution. Get me something to shoot," Jones called, "Keep those damn things busy long enough for Dakota to get her girls in the water."

"Sir, I have a solution with the main gun," called a gunner's mate.

"By all means, fire at will," Jones said, then felt the deck plates vibrate slightly as the 5" gun barked.

* * *

"Damn, would you look at that," whistled Atlanta. She had just watched as a bright, orange tracer burst from the muzzle of the 5" gun up on the fo'c'sle. It sailed off into the night, then exploded with a bright flash as it hit something solid. "Tin can drivers are really earning their pay tonight," She said.

"Great, that's great, now will you keep moving," said Pensacola as she gave Atlanta a shove from behind, "We need to get into the water, preferably before the Abyssals put a few extra holes in our bottom."

"Alright, alright, I'm going," said Atlanta as she made her way across the flight deck. Someone had decided that the best way for ship girls to enter and exit conventional destroyers, was a deployable ramp that could be lowered over the fantail. The thing was about five feet wide, and made of steel with grip tape applied to its face. Atlanta ran down the thing as fast as she could. Then leaped off the end, hitting the water with a splash.

"Atlanta," she heard Salt Lake say in the darkness, "Form up with Northampton and wait for instructions." This order posed a bit of a problem. It was completely dark outside, and little was visible. She could see the other cruisers with her radar, but she had no idea which blip represented which ship. But for the first time since she could remember, they had come into a night battle prepared. She, and the rest of the ship girls, had been given something called Night Vision Goggles, well monocular really. It was a little plastic thing that fit over her right eye, and allowed her to see in the dark.

She reached up and flipped the thing over her eye, marveling at how much it allowed her to see. She scanned the area around her, quickly spotting her teammates. They were all wearing IR strobe lights clipped to their equipment. The little lights were completely invisible to the naked eye, but through the NVGs, they showed up clear and bright. It was easy to find Northampton with the NVG's help.

A few minutes later Salt Lake came up with Pensacola in tow. "Alright _Halsey_ has just informed us that they spot three BBs, six CAs, and six DDs," She said, "Dakota has tasked us with dealing with the cruisers. They were last spotted at bearing 220 to the _Halsey_, but just follow her fire, should lead us right to them." As soon as she had finished talking, the _Halsey_ fired again, its superior optics allowing it to find targets much easier than the ship girls. Atlanta watched the tracer round through her NVGs, and saw that it landed in the midst of a clump of black objects, obviously Abyssals.

"Got the targets," she said.

"Everybody else see them?" Salt Lake asked, "Hold fire until I command, we'll open with a volley." Atlanta waited patiently for the order to fire, watching as a pair of shots from the _Halsey_ tore into a cruiser, causing it to explode with a brilliant fireball. Her NVG's automatically blacked out to protect her eyes from the bright light. The Abyssals now had an idea of where the ship shooting their comrades was located, they began to open up on the destroyer with several, stuttering broadsides.

"Open fire," Salt Lake called. The four American cruiser fired almost simultaneously. The cloud of tracers climbed high into the night before slamming back down right on top of the Abyssals. Two of their number fell immediately to the American's fire.

"That was fun," whooped Pensacola, "Now let's do it again." Unfortunately for her, the Abyssals now knew that there were two things shooting at them. The remaining cruisers began to open up on their American counterparts, doing little damage but ruffle a few uniforms.

"Independent fire at will," Salt Lake ordered, and the cruisers instantly obliged. The sea around Atlanta became a rolling, pulsing ball of smoke and fire as the line of cruisers poured everything they had into the Abyssals. The staggered fire was less effective, and the remaining three Abyssals were only hit a few times.

Their return fire this time was much more accurate. Four shells found their marks and struck Pensacola.

"Damn it," she swore loudly.

"You alright," Salt Lake yelled over the gunfire.

"Fine," Pensacola grunted, "The equipment took the damage, just like it's supposed to, but my number three turret's out of action for a bit."

"Then keep firing," Salt Lake said. During the diversion, Northampton was able to land a critical hit. An Abyssals was sent reeling as it four hits from her 8" guns. The enemy did not fare as well as Pensacola, and began to roll over, dead.

"One more down, two to go," she said simply. Pensacola fueled by rage, began to rapid fire her guns, hoping to score a hit through simple saturation. Her strategy was effective after a while, and a fourth remaining Abyssal lost all headway and began to sink.

"Take that, you sonava bitch," she spat.

"Good work," Salt Lake said, "Just one left." Atlanta had this particular Abyssals locked in her sights, so to say. She had already calculated a firing solution on its position, and was keeping it under a constant barrage. Her 5" guns were not as effective as the other girl's weapons, but she did have sixteen of them at her disposal. It finally turned into a case of death by a thousand cuts as Atlanta's 5" guns began to overwhelm the remaining Abyssal's defenses. A lucky shot from her caused the thing to detonate into a brilliant fireball as its ammunition cooked off.

"We're clear," she said, "That was the last one."

"Dakota, Dakota, this is cruiser 1 actual," Salt Lake said into the radio, "The cruisers have been dealt with. I say again, all cruisers sunk."

"Good work cruiser 1," Dakota replied after a second, "We're just mopping up here, and the destroyers are off hunting for the enemy tin cans. Stay on station for now, but I think that this fight is over."

"Affirmative Dakota, we will keep station off the _Halsey_'s port quarter for now," Salt Lake said. She turned to Pensacola and asked, "You good? Or do you want to head in?"

"I'm good," she replied, "There probably isn't a scratch on me, and it only hurt for a minute, then the equipment absorbed the damage. I'm fine now."

Atlanta could see Salt Lake nod slightly, then say, "Alright, form up on me. We're on escort duty."

* * *

"What was that about?" asked Kongou, just before she fired her cannons.

"Cruisers were reporting that they had dealt with the Abyssals cruisers," replied South Dakota, "It's just those two and the tin cans left." The two battleships had engaged with the Abyssals battleships upon entering the water. For whatever the reason the Abyssals had decided to engage the _Halsey _from both directions, with the cruisers attacking from the port quarter and the battleships from the starboard. This had played to the American's favor as they were able to meet each attack separately.

Dakota and Kongou had been trading broadsides with the Abyssals for several minutes now, and had already scored one confirmed kill. Dakota had already taken two shells, but her equipment was able to absorb the damage with ease. Kongou had displayed herself to be a competent night fighter, scoring consistent hits even without the aid of a radar director like Dakota's. _'Must have experience with this sort of thing'_ Dakota thought.

"Those Abyssals will taste Kongou's Burning love, FIRE!" Kongou shouted as she loosed another volley. Dakota really didn't like the Japanese girl's constant yelling of her catchphrase, but she actually seemed to land better hits whenever she did. As displayed as that salvo hit its mark square on, crippling one of the Abyssals. Dakota quickly followed up with a salvo of her own, striking the same Abyssal with another devastating salvo. It was clear that it was not long for the world as it began to sink slowly.

"Two down, one to go," Dakota said unconsciously, then fired again.

She was a bit surprised when she heard Captain Jones' voice over the radio, "Dakota, Dakota, this is _Halsey_ actual, we have a solution on the remaining battlewagon and are about to go hot, I suggest that you stand clear for this one."

"Rodger that _Halsey_, we're clear of the area," Dakota said quickly. She wondered what that was about for several seconds, and then the night sky was lit with fire.

* * *

"You may fire when ready," Captain Jones said calmly. A few seconds later he watched as his ship was bathed in fire as VLS tube doors popped open and missiles began to climb into the night trailing plumes of fire.

"Birds away, birds away on track, bearing 132," called a tech as the _Halsey_ began to loose its deadly payload. One of the earliest problems that the US Navy had faced in their war against the Abyssals was the fact that they gave off no radar return. All modern ship launched missiles are radar guided, using internal radar transmitters to lock onto and hit a target. Because the Abyssals didn't show up on radar, they couldn't be targeted by missiles. This problem had very recently been remedied by a rather simple solution.

Lockheed Martin had approached the Navy with a version of its AGM-114 Hellfire anti-tank missile that could be loaded into and fired out of a standard VLS cell. This solved a lot of problems due to the fact that the Hellfire was a laser guided missile. An IR laser designator had been installed aboard every USN ship's mast, and could be used to lase Abyssals for the Hellfire's to lock onto. Also, due to the Hellfire's small size, four of the missiles could be packed into a single VLS cell, a single _Arleigh Burke_ could carry hundreds of the things. Unfortunately the missiles didn't have that great of a range, only around 5 nautical miles, suicide range for a single ship without escort.

Jones watched as eight of the missiles, two cells worth, climbed into the night then dropped down in the terminal phase of their flights. His eyes were glued to the feed from the camera as it watched the missiles slam into the helpless Abyssal. The sea around it was enveloped in rolling cloud of fire and smoke as the eight missiles detonated a mix of thermobaric warheads and shaped charges. The Abyssal battleship didn't stand a chance.

"Clean hits, clean hits, sierra two destroyed," called the tech.

"Confirmed _Halsey_, all battleships sunk," replied Dakota over the radio.

"Now if we can just find those destroyers," Jones muttered.

* * *

"Where the hell are those tin cans," O'Bannon yelled for perhaps the fifth time.

"I don't know O'Bannon, I didn't know five minutes ago, I don't know now, and I probably won't know five minutes from now," replied Nicholas. Johnston really hadn't been paying attention to the back and forth banter, she had been completely awestruck as the _Halsey_ fired its missiles. She hadn't known what was happening at first, the missiles making a completely different sound than guns, but it was easy to figure out what was going on when she saw the fire contrails streaming behind the missiles. If the radio was to be believed, all of the Abyssals had been sunk, save for the elusive destroyers.

"Maybe they ran away?" Radford suggested, "Maybe when they saw the rest of their fleet get pounded, they ran?"

"No," Johnston countered, "Doesn't fit their SOP. Abyssals don't run, ever. No matter how one sided a fight is."

"I have to agree with Johnston," Nichols said, "They won't be gone until they are resting on the bottom."

"Anybody got a radar return?" O'Bannon asked hopefully a few minutes later.

"Sorry O Boat, I've got nothing," replied Radford.

"Damn it, how hard is it to catch these things," O'Bannon swore loudly.

"Would you keep it down," Nicholas chastised, "No sense letting the entire world know we're here." Johnston was doing her best to tune out the discussion going on around her as she scanned the sea with her night vision optic. She had been doing it ever since they had left the_ Halsey_ hoping to spot any trace of the Abyssals. Something caught her eye as she panned the optic. She swung back to take a look at it, and was rewarded when she caught an Abyssal destroyer firmly in the center of the scope.

"Uh guys," she said, "I've got them."

"Where, where?" O'Bannon asked, eagerly.

"Bearing 1-2-0, range 1-double-0," Johnston said, making a rough estimate.

"Anybody else see them?" Nicholas asked.

"I've got 'em, sonova. Right where Johnston said they were," O'Bannon said, her face taking on a wide grin.

"I see them too," Radford replied, "I count six, all in column. What are they doing over here? We're nowhere near where the rest of the fleet engaged?"

"Probably trying for an end around," Johnston suggested.

"You're right, just like Tassafaronga," Nicholas realized. She quickly keyed her radio and called, "_Halsey_ this is Nick, we've spotted the DDs. They're about two hundred yards off you port bow. We think they're trying for a surprise torpedo attack on your position."

A few seconds later Dakota replied, "Nick, Dakota, are you in a position to engage them?"

"We are, but if we miss any of them, you're going to have torpedoes in your lap real soon," Nick said.

"Rodger that Nick, we'll be ready," came the voice of Captain Jones.

"So, anybody got an idea about how to do this?" Nicholas asked.

"Guns blazing?" O'Bannon suggested.

"No, too many of them, we'd have to even the odds first," Nicholas replied. An idea came into Johnston's head, something she had read before.

"We could try a coordinated torpedo attack," she suggested, "Just like at Cape St. George."

Nicholas thought about it for several seconds, shot a bearing to the Abyssals, and then said, "That would work, and they're certainly close enough." She began to pull range and bearing data from her rangefinder, and then waited as the data was run through her torpedo computer. "Aright," she said after the solution had been spit out, "Tubes to bearing 130, set range for 150."

The other destroyers quickly replied, "Ready," when they were in position.

"Fire," Nicholas said, and 40 Mk 15 destroyer launched torpedoes were ejected into the ocean. The next few minutes crawled past as the destroyers waited for any signs that they had hit their targets. They were rewarded as seven bright flashes appeared in the distance, then, a split second later, the low rumbling of torpedoes detonating could be heard.

Radford let out a low whistle, "Is there anything left alive out there?"

Johnston quickly scanned the area with her optic, "I see one still floating, but it looks stunned. It's just swimming in circles."

"Anybody have it on radar?" Nicholas asked.

"I do," relied O'Bannon, "Once I knew where to look, getting them in the sights of my director was easy."

"Then, what are you waiting for, fire," Nicholas said.

"My pleasure," replied O'Bannon, and her cannon barked. The rapid firing 5"/38 caliber gun was reloaded and ready to fire again in seconds, and O'Bannon was using this to its fullest, keeping a constant rain of fire falling on the lone Abyssal.

It only took a few minutes before Johnston called, "Cease fire, cease fire, you got it."

"Dakota, Nick, all targets neutralized, we're heading home," Nicholas said, keying her mic.

"Well done, we'll see you back at the barn," came the reply seconds later.

"Good job Johnston, I don't think any of us had any idea where those things were," Nicholas said, completely shocking Johnston.

"I was just doing my job ma'am," she replied.

"Well good job," Nicholas confirmed, "Alright you heard the scary battleship on the radio, time to head for home." Johnston followed the rest of DesRon 21 as she tried to figure out just how sincere Nicholas' compliment had been. She finally decided that it was completely sincere.

* * *

**NS Midway Island, June 28, 2018**

The news of the _Halsey_'s victory over the Abyssals had been welcome news to Midway, a victory always did wonders for morale, but Smith couldn't help but wonder when the battles would stop being so easy. _'The Abyssals didn't sweep the seas clean by being stupid, they will adapt soon, and we will be back at square one,'_ he thought. He was currently going over recent events in his head as he stood on the tarmac, waiting for a plane to arrive. The plane would have aboard the IG from Washington team, it was finally time to get that over with. He was standing, with the rest of his senior staff, in sharply crisped whites, waiting for the plane to arrive.

"Control shack just called, "shouted Commander Walker, "They're five minutes out." Smith silently nodded at the news, he had expected it. The plane was visible a few seconds later, it was a large C-17 Globemaster III cargo jet. The thing touched down and rolled into a parking spot, about twenty minutes after it landed, the first passenger made their way down the air stairs. Smith was a bit surprised to see a petit woman with blonde hair, wearing a Navy uniform with the four stripes of a captain on her shoulder boards.

"James Smith," Smith greeted, and held out a hand, "Welcome to Midway ma'am."

"Captain Ryan," she replied, "From the Office of the Inspector General. Is it true what I've heard about this base? Do you really have reincarnated ships here?" Smith was a bit stunned at the question, it was not something he expected the inspector to ask.

He replied by pushing Enterprise towards Captain Ryan, "This is my executive officer, Lieutenant Enterprise," he said.

Ryan's eyes went wide and she asked, "The Enterprise?"

"I do get that a lot," Enterprise replied casually, "Yes, USS Enterprise, CV-6, at your service."

"Well captain, I look forward to the inspection, just let me retrieve my staff, and we can start," Ryan said, then disappeared back into the plane. Smith found himself letting out a sigh of relief, he wasn't going to have any trouble from Captain Ryan, and in fact she seemed to be a like-minded individual. Still, this was going to be a long day.

* * *

Decided to rewrite this because I felt that I hadn't done enough with the battle at the end, and it was a bit to confusing at times.

So here is the revised version.

Reviews:

**SulliMike23: **Yeah, well there weren't very many ways for me to spin Houston. And I do have plans for Sister Sara and Lady Lex, but considering the amount of characters I have to keep track of as it is, it might be a bit.

**Colonel Amiruddin Arif: **Eh, just doing something she wasn't supposed to, but she is the troublemaker/prankster of the island, so expect more of her shenanigans.

**Thorthemighty321: **As to the tech, there is a reason why the subs were using Mk 14's. I didn't get to go into it but it will be soon, just rest assured, they are late war variant Mk 14's the ones that actually worked.

**NVA Commander Taney-Chan: **She would make a good character, and I have to admit not being that familiar with the puddle pirates(or the battle of the Atlantic in general) but I'll look into her.

**rmanning3str: **I have to admit also being a fan of the old stories of the silent service, and will probably be writing more of the Silent Service side stories in the future.

**Guest: **Well I can confirm that the _Iowa_s won't show up anytime soon, as ship girls. And I have plans for Mrs. Smith interacting with the ship girls, and they will be fun to write.

**Jedii: **Somewhere hard to find probably.

**FrancisJames: **Well that ending remark did come from the fact that my Sammy is the base troublemaker, and will be the one telling Willy what to blow up.

**c0dy88: **I will sadly miss my _Benson_ for some time to come, and hopefully get her back soon.

**Guest(2):** I have to admit that I was falling back on the crutch of uniforms because I didn't want to take time to actually design outfits, but I'm working on that. And I can tell you that the announcement that your ship is scheduled for an INSURV(ship inspection) visit is enough to send everyone scrambling for cover.

**Guest(3): **Been capping the chapters out at no less than 5000 words so I have to try to trim out all the stuff that is unnecessary or tedious.

**Rapter267: **I am starting to let the girls have a bit more leeway with their outfits, as I get better at character design, and there was a reason that Kongou was sent with the _Halsey_, but yes because she was under Smith's command, she would be subject to inspection.

**NCGaming: **I'm just going to stop guessing when scenes are going to happen, because it's never when I say they will, but I will say soon, very soon.

**hfdt123: **Part of that was trying to get the reader to emotionally connect with Johnston, so glad that worked, and Nick won't be a jerk to Johnston forever. Have to admit never going down the Jap cruiser line, I got the Cleveland and was sold to Americans from then on.

**Wolfman-053: **Well, bit of a tip at the end, but IG teams are supposed to be completely unbiased.

**Andrey-159: **I'm working on character design, little by little, and being a diver myself I was just trying to get across just how difficult trying to communicate underwater is, because it is a pain. I might have gone a bit overboard talking about something I like talking about though.


	12. Chapter 11

**Pacific Ocean, June 28, 2018**

"What do you mean we're lost?" asked Tang, trying to understand Wahoo's last comment.

"We're not lost," Wahoo replied, "It's just that when that ash can went off above my head, it damaged this thing." Wahoo held up the waterproof GPS receiver, "And cracked the waterproof housing. Water leaked in, and, well…"

"So you're telling me, that our only method of accurately navigating, is now nothing more than a piece of useless plastic?" Tang asked, a shocked tone in her voice, "We're dead. We are so dead."

"Oh calm down Miss Tang, we ain't dead yet," placated Harder, "I'm sure the skipper has a plan, ain't that right skipper?"

"As a matter of fact, I just might," Wahoo said, "Okay who has the map? I know we were issued a paper map, so whoever's got it, cough it up."

"Here skipper," replied Sealion as she approached Wahoo, a folded piece of paper in her hands.

"So are you planning to navigate two hundred miles with nothing more than a map, and a wrist compass? When we don't have any clue where we are, and can't trust the compass to be accurate enough to get us where we're going?" Tang said.

"Would you quit whining," Wahoo said, "I do know what I'm doing. I wrote down the last set of coordinates before the GPS went dead, so that means…" Wahoo traced a line on the map, and then drew a large X, "That we are right here." She placed her compass on the map, and oriented it to point north, "And that if we want to find Australia, we need to sail a course of 200 degrees."

"But that won't take us to where we need to go," Harder said.

"I know that, but Australia is huge, we head in a general direction and we'll find it eventually. Then we can follow the coast to where we need to be," Wahoo explained, "So let's get going, sooner we get there, sooner we can get out of this rigging."

* * *

**NS Midway Island**

Enterprise didn't think that it was possible for her to be more tired than she was now. She had spent the last ten plus hours on her feet following one of the inspection teams around the base. Serving in her capacity as the executive officer to help the team out in any way she could. She had been dragged to every corner of the base, visiting areas she had never seen before. In all that time, she had been able to get off her feet exactly twice, so she was beyond tired.

Usually she would head to the wardroom to get a cup of coffee whenever she felt this bad, but she felt that she rated something a little stronger tonight. Enterprise really wasn't one to drink on a regular basis, but she did understand the value of a good, stiff drink every now and then. The decision was fairly easy to make when she realized that the club was on her path back to the carrier barracks.

She saw several familiar faces when she entered the small building, most of them senior officers and Non-coms who had just finished escorting the various inspection teams. What she didn't expect to hear was, "Hey sis, come on over here." Enterprise looked over to see Yorktown sitting on a stool at the bar. Enterprise walked over to her, and didn't really sit down in the stool, he collapsed into it with a grunt. "What happened to you?" Yorktown asked, "You look like you just got run over by a Wildcat."

Enterprise grunted, "Just a second," and waved the rating behind the bar over. The man walked up and quirked an eyebrow, silently asking Enterprise what she wanted. "One of those please," she replied, pointing to the bottle sitting on the bar in front of Yorktown. He nodded and walked away.

"It must have been a bad day for you," Yorktown observed, "I don't think I've ever seen you drinking."

"I just got done escorting a junior grade lieutenant around the base, while he inspected everything," Enterprise replied, carefully spacing out each word, "And the best part? This particular lieutenant couldn't find his ass with two hands and a roadmap."

Yorktown let out a low whistle, "You're swearing, he must have been bad."

"Just some Annapolis ring knocker out on his first assignment away from the Pentagon," Enterprise began, "Who thought he knew absolutely everything about how a base was supposed to be run."

"Weren't those guys supposed to be inpectin the base? Not trying to tell us how to do our jobs?" Yorktown asked. Enterprise opened her mouth to respond, when the bartender slid an open bottle of beer down the bar. She caught it in one hand, and thanked the bartender with a nod.

"Where was I?" Enterprise asked after taking a long pull from the bottle.

"Ring knocker, bad lieutenant," Yorktown supplied.

"Right, well it wasn't that he was bad, per se, just, green," Enterprise said, "We got lost three times, and I had to lead the inspection team back all three."

"Sounds like a jay gee alright," Yorktown said chuckling, "That don't seem that bad, what was your real problem?"

Enterprise shot her sister a look, and said, "Why can you see right through me?" Yorktown shrugged, and Enterprise replied, "My biggest problem today was all the goddamed hero worship."  
"Wait, you're tellin me, you don't like being called out everywhere you go?" Yorktown said, sarcastically.

Enterprise shoved her sister by the shoulder, and said, "No, I don't. It's getting to the point that as soon as anyone hears who I am, their first response is, 'The Enterprise? The legendary ship that during the war sunk half the Japanese fleet and didn't take a scratch of damage?'."

"So what's this got to do with the inspector lieutenant?" Yorktown asked, taking a swig from her beer.

"He constantly asked me questions, questions about what it was like to be a ship, what the old war was like, and what it was like to be under the command of "Bull" Halsey," Enterprise said, "Sometimes I think about going under an assumed name, so people will stop asking me the same questions over and over."

"Okay that's the debit half, now what's the credit?" Yorktown asked suddenly.

"Excuse me?" Enterprise said, confused.

"There has to be something good about this new life, or else you would have changed your name and moved away months ago," Yorktown stated.

Enterprise sat silent for several seconds, contemplating the question, then replied, "I think the best part about being here and now, is getting to see you."

"Why I'm flattered," Yorktown replied.

"No, not you personally, I mean get to see my sisters again," Enterprise said, "After you went down at Midway and we lost Hornet at Santa Cruz, I was all alone for a long time. Don't get me wrong, talking with the cruisers and destroyers is nice, but I wished that I could see my sisters again, to apologize for not being able to do more."

Yorktown placed a hand on Enterprise's shoulder, then said, "Don't give me that BS, you did the best that you could. Sometimes we lose battles, sometimes good ships are lost. That's just the nature of war."

"I know, but still," Enterprise said, dejectedly, "It still hurts."

"I understand," Yorktown said, tone growing somber, "If there is one ship that I wish that I could see again, it's Lexington." Enterprise looked up at Yorktown to see tears forming in her eyes, "She was just as much a mother to us as Langley was, and I couldn't save her." Yorktown brought her fist down on the bar.

"And now, my name is more remembered than yours," Enterprise said, "That's why I hate the hero worship. I'm remembered for surviving, but all those who didn't, faded away into the mists of time. You know they gave your names to new ships, right?"

"A pair of _Essex _class carriers, state of the frikken art," Yorktown replied, mood brightening a bit, "Well, at the time at least. They're still around aren't they, as museum ships? You think we'll ever see them?"

"You know I asked Commander Miyata about that," Enterprise said, "Museum ships coming back I mean. He said that if they really wanted to they could come back, but to do so, the spirit would have to completely sever itself from the ship."

"I wonder if I could do that, leave my old hull behind on some dock somewhere to come back like this," Yorktown muttered, "Helluva choice there."

Enterprise lifted her bottle, "To old friends, and new acquaintances, may we see them soon." Yorktown mimicked the toast.

"As the old saying goes, to wives and sweethearts, may they never meet," Yorktown said with a wry smile, "Or in our case, husbands and sweethearts."

"Here here," Enterprise said, then tapped her beer to Yorktown's. Enterprise suddenly remembered something. She reached into her breast pocket and began to fish for something. Smiling with triumph, she pulled something out. "Here," she said, and flipped a coin up in the air, "The captain gave me a load of these when I first came back. No idea where he got them from, but here." She caught the coin then passed it to Yorktown. It was a simple brass challenge coin, with the legend USS _Enterprise _CVN-65 written above a picture of that ship.

"Huh, so you got renamed as well?" Yorktown asked, flipping the coin over in her hand.

"Apparently, that ship was the very first nuclear powered aircraft carrier in the world. Nicholas and O'Bannon told me that they escorted her for a time before they were decommissioned," Enterprise said, "That ship was decommissioned about ten years ago, but they built another one."

"They ever build another _Yorktown_ after the _Essex _class one?" Yorktown asked.

"They did, but," Enterprise braced herself for the next bit, "They changed the naming conventions after the war, it was a cruiser."

"What? A cruiser?" Yorktown, "There is no justice in this world is there, you get a pair of aircraft carriers, and I get a cruiser?"

Enterprise shook her head laughing, "Better than most of the cruisers and battleships, they got submarines named after them."

"I guess a cruiser is better than a submarine, which reminds me," Yorktown said, "If I ever make it Japan, remind me to slug that sub that sunk me."

"As long as that's as far as it goes," Enterprise replied.

"Of course," Yorktown said, with an air of mock sincerity. Enterprise simply sat there laughing for several minutes, she had really needed this.

* * *

Captain Smith was starting to believe that he had made a much bigger deal out of this inspection than it actually was. With his surface warfare experience, he was used to dealing with shipboard inspections. A tense time in which every inch of a ship would be searched for discrepancies. When problems were found during a shipboard inspection, it meant extra time spent at the pier rectifying them, so it was a major deal to be prepared for the inspection. Smith was learning now that the problems found during the inspection of a shore facility, were minor and easily correctable. He had been following Captain Ryan around the base for several hours now, helping her whenever he could.

He had been rather surprised to learn just how far she had been read into his project. She explained that her office had been contacted by an admiral on CINCPAC's staff two days ago. He had detailed to her the nature of the Fleet Auxiliary Program, and had arranged for a courier to bring around a dossier on the subject. SO Captain Ryan had a fairly thorough knowledge on the subject.

Captain Smith had seen more of his base in the last few hours, than he had seen over the last two months. Captain Ryan had dragged him through inspections of the galleys, the mess hall, the base hospital, and the gas turbine generators. They had eventually come full circle, and were now inspecting the main headquarters.

The building had changed greatly from when Smith had first taken command of the base. It was still the same two-story, white cinderblock building, but the interior had been updated and changed significantly. Located on the top floor were offices for all of the senior staff, nothing interesting really, and nothing that needed to be inspected. However, the bottom floor held several areas that were due for inspection.

They were stopped outside one of the rooms now, behind a large, metal door with a bright red sign bearing the legend, "War Room Authorized Personnel Only."

"War Room?" Captain Ryan said questioningly.

"Bit of an informal designation," Smith explained, "This is our strategic planning, briefing, and intelligence room."

"Good choice of names," Ryan said, nodding, "Can we go in?"

"Let me get the door unlocked first," Smith said, digging around his pockets for his key ring, "This is one the rooms where we keep top secret documents, so the door is pretty hefty."

"I'm glad you brought that up, captain," Ryan announced, "What are your policies on top secret material?"

Smith answered the question as he continued to dig for his keys, "Right now the only people on base with the proper clearance are myself, Commander Walker the aviation officer, and Master Chief Boggs. We've been trying to get Enterprise clearance, but she doesn't really have a background to check, so that's stuck in red tape. And the communication and crypto staff." Smith finally extracted the right key, and unlocked the door. He led Captain Ryan around the room, explaining various points as they went. She pointed to a huge map of the Pacific Ocean covering one entire wall of the room.

"Still use the old pin and string method I see," she said pointing to a line drawn on the map with a half dozen thumbtacks and piece of string.

"We also have a computerized plot, but sometimes the old standbys are the best option," Smith explained.

"May I ask what that is?"

"Sorry captain," Smith said, his smile fading, "That falls under OPSEC." He was speaking of operational security, the ground rules for classifying information.

"And I don't have the need to know, right," Ryan said, "Just thought I'd ask. Well, everything seems to be in order around here. Let's move on." Smith nodded then followed Ryan out of the room, locking the door behind them.

"Comms room is just down the hall," he said, "Might as well stop there next." The door to the communications room was not quite as imposing as the door to the War Room.

Originally the base communications room had been located in a temporary Quonset hut over by the main satellite relay dishes, but after receiving some necessary parts, it had been moved to the main headquarters. It was now located behind a simple wooden door that could be mistaken to contain anything if it wasn't for the plastic sign that read, "Communications."

Smith wrapped on it twice with his knuckles, receiving a curt, "Come," from inside. The comms shack operated 24/7, so it had been a good bet that there would be someone inside. Smith walked in to see a young woman wearing the insignia of an Information Technician 3rd sitting behind a desk. She tried to stand up the moment she recognized just who had come into the room, but Smith waved her back down.

"As you were," he said out of reflex, "Captain Ryan here just wants to take a look at this shop." The tech nodded and went back to watching her computer monitor. While the comms shack did deal with communications, it wasn't in the traditional sense. The room wasn't filled with rows of giant transceivers that could broadcast signals across the globe. Instead it contained banks of computers, all tied into the satellite relay. Ryan walked through each stack of computers, checking to see if there were any major errors visible. She nodded with approval when she saw a pair of towers separated from the rest with bright red, "Top Secret," labels plastered over them. Smith detached himself from Ryan's inspection and walked over to the tech.

"Anything new?" he asked.

"Nothing so far, sir," she replied, instinctively clicking through the computer for incoming traffic.

Captain Ryan walked back over to him, "Everything is in order here, captain, let's move on." Smith nodded, and was about to leave the room, when a printer along the back wall whirred to life.

"New traffic from the _Halsey_, sir," the tech explained. Smith nodded then walked over to the printer.

"Why don't you go ahead, captain," Smith said as he ripped the sheet of paper out of the printer, "I've been waiting for this report for a while, and it's going to take some time to reply to."

"That would be fine," Ryan replied, "I'll see you later Captain Smith," Ryan replied, then left the room. Smith looked down at the sheet. It was indeed a report from the _Halsey_ detailing a skirmish against the Abyssals. One girl sustained minor damaged, fifteen Abyssals killed was what Smith read.

Then at the bottom of the page the phrase, "We have met the enemy, and they are ours," caught Smith's eye. He grinned at that, it could only mean one thing, the _Halsey_ had safely reached its destination in Japan, and Smith needed every bit of good news he could get these days.

* * *

**Yokosuka Naval District**

It was a beautiful day in Yokosuka Harbor today. The weather was perfect and there was not a cloud in sight. For the girls of the Yokosuka Naval District, today was a day to relax, get out in the sun, and just have some fun. Abyssal attacks had been on the decline around the Japanese home islands, and because of this, fewer Japanese kanmusu needed to be deployed on missions. Destroyer Fubuki had decided to spend her new found free time doing something productive, jogging.

With Akagi gone on a mission, Kongou mysteriously reassigned, and the rest of her friends lazing about or deployed, jogging was really all she could do. Well she could be training, but due to a recent incident, Admiral Muriname had declared that the training ranges were off limits without the supervision of a JMSDF officer, and they were all over at the main base for some reason or another. Fubuki was just about to make another loop around the base, when she caught sight of two girls standing at the edge of the water. They were gesturing and pointing to something out in the bay. Fubuki jogged up next to them, and saw that it was half of DesDiv 6, destroyers Ikazuchi and Inazuma.

"What's going on?" Fubuki asked, breaking into their animated conversation.

"There's a ship pulling into our docks," replied Ikazuchi.

"So, what's special about that?" Fubuki asked. Attached to the Naval District was a set of standard piers with space for regular vessels to dock. The only ships that docked there on a regular basis was the guided missile destroyer _Kirishima_, which served as sort of a floating command post for the kanmusu. Ikazuchi pointed to a ship entering the bay, and Fubuki could tell immediately that it was headed for the Naval District berths, if it was headed to the commercial piers or the American navy base, it would have been much further south.

"Does that ship look strange to you?" asked Inazuma. Fubuki peered closely at the mystery ship. To her, it looked exactly like a _Kongou _or _Atago _class destroyer, both of which frequented the naval District.

"It just looks like an AEGIS destroyer to me," Fubuki admitted a few second later.

"Look at the bridge, it seems off, shorter maybe," Ikazuchi pointed out, "And the gun is the wrong shape. I think it's an American ship."

"Can't be American," Fubuki countered, "They haven't sent a ship out from their base since the war started, and they couldn't have crossed the Pacific with a single ship."

"But that looks like one of the ships over at the American base, what do they call it? _Arleigh Burke_?" Ikazuchi pointed out.

"But we don't know if it is," Inazuma added, "We can't make out the flag." Fubuki nodded, then looked at the top of the ship's mast, where the flag usually streamed. If the ship was flying a flag, it was obscured by the bulk of the superstructure. Fubuki didn't have long to ponder this though because as she watched an absolutely enormous American flag being hauled up the mast.

"See I told you, it's American," Ikazuchi said triumphantly.

"But what is it doing here?" Inazuma asked. Fubuki had seen many ships pull into port during her time. As one of the first ships to return as a girl, she had come back just in time to witness the early stages of the Abyssal war. The American 7th Fleet stationed in Yokosuka, had sold itself dearly to protect the Japanese people. Doggedly refusing to back down, even when it was clear that they were outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched. The American ships would sally forth to meet the Abyssals, and when they limped back into port, they were badly damaged and barely afloat. They would stay in port just long enough to patch major damage, and offload the dead and wounded, before returned to the fight. Most of the time, the ships would leave the port, and never return.

This ship was different. It was not slowly limping into port, it was sailing proudly. The sight reminded Fubuki of the early days of the old war, when ships would return home after successfully completing a mission. This ship displayed a level of pride that she had not seen from the Americans in a long time, and it intrigued Fubuki. "Hey look," called Ikazuchi, "There's another flag. Just under the big one." Fubuki looked to where the smaller destroyer was pointing, and, sure enough, a second flag had been hoisted.

"It looks like a solid blue field," Fubuki muttered as she squinted, trying to discern details about the new flag, "What do you suppose it means?"

"I don't know, but we'll know soon, the ship is getting closer," Inazuma pointed out. As the ship moved closer to where the girls were standing, Fubuki was just barely able to make out something written on the flag in white. It was hard to read at first, but as the ship got even closer, she recognized it as English. Fubuki had a pretty good understanding of English, it was taught to all of the ship girls so they could work with their British counterparts to the south. Some did better than others with the different language, but foreign languages were something of a hobby for Fubuki, she spoke three well enough to be understood most of the time.

Still, it took her a moment to translate the text, then she read, "Don't give up the ship. What do you think it means?"

"It's a reference," Fubuki wheeled about to see that Nagato was standing behind her, also watching at the approaching Americans. She pointed to the ship and explained, "It's a reference to an American admiral, Oliver Hazard Perry. He led a fleet of American ships against the British during their War of 1812. From his flagship he flew a banner with those same words, and, upon emerging from the battle victorious, the motto was taken up by the American Navy. The original flag still hangs in their Naval Academy, if I remember correctly."

"So what ship is that?" asked Ikazuchi, curious.

"We just received word of their arrival a short time ago," Nagato replied, "That is the American destroyer USS _Halsey_." The name instantly sparked recognition in Fubuki's eyes.

"Halsey, as in Admiral Halsey?" she asked.

"The same," Nagato replied tersely.

"What's it doing here?" asked Inazuma, changing the subject.

"If I understand the message we received from the Americans correctly, it is here to host a cultural exchange program. Several of their people will being staying on our base for a few days, and we will discuss the nature of the kanmusu with them," Nagato explained.

"Do you think this has anything to do with American kanmusu?" Fubuki asked excitedly.

"Possibly, but we cannot know for certain just yet," Nagato replied. Fubuki nodded understanding. The subject of American kanmusu had been a heated topic among the girls of the Yokosuka Naval District. With more and more girls arriving each day, and with arrival of several foreign kanmusu, it would only be a matter of time before the Americans started to bring girls of their own into the picture. The debate around the base had been about whether the Japanese girls wanted to meet their former enemies. Surprisingly, most of them were willing, even eager, to meet the American girls. Only a handful showed resentment over the old war.

Fubuki had a very strong opinion with regards to this issue. She, like so many of her sisters, had been sunk by American guns, but that had been a long time ago, and she had watched as the 7th Fleet continuously tried to protect the Japanese people. The American Navy had willingly sold their ships and crews to protect the lives and interests of the Japanese. A people who had, just 70 years prior, tried to wipe them off the face of the map. It was a gripping sight for Fubuki and for many of the other kanmusu. It had completely changed Fubuki's opinion of the American Navy. She wished that the Americans would start calling back girls of their own, so that she could do as much to help them, as they had done to help the Japanese.

"Well I hope it's the American kanmusu," Fubuki announced.

"It would be nice to meet some new faces," agreed Inazuma.

Nagato stood in silence, pondering the words of the destroyers, before replying, "Only time will tell."

* * *

**USS **_**Halsey**_**, Hangar Deck **

"Whaddya mean we have to spend a week with the Japanese?" asked an indignant O'Bannon, "Last time I got anywhere near the Japs, I was almost sunk. It'll be nothing but trouble, I'm warning you."

"Oh come off it, we both sailed into Tokyo bay with _Missouri_ and we stationed out of Japan for the entirety of the Korean War," Nicholas pointed out.

"I still don't like it," O'Bannon muttered.

"Are you done yet?" asked South Dakota, mildly tolerantly.

"Yes," O'Bannon harrumphed and sat down.

"Now that that's out in the open," Dakota began, "Let me clarify, we are going to spend a week on the Japanese base. That decision has been made above my paygrade, and is not open for discussion."

"Why?" Nicholas asked.

"Show the flag," Salt Lake replied before Dakota could, "Show the Japanese that the US Navy is still a powerful force in this part of the word. Why do you think they sent this ship?"

"Excuse me?" Dakota said, confused. Salt Lake stood up from the stack of crates she had been leaning on, and began to pace across the hangar.

"This ship used to be based in Pearl, and that is a fact that the Japanese know for certain," Salt Lake said, "So here's the million dollar question: what does it say when we pull into Yokosuka in a ship that, until recently, was in Pearl Harbor?"

"That we are capable of protecting a ship as it crosses the Pacific," Nicholas answered suddenly, the pieces falling into place.

"Correct, someone give the ensign a prize," Salt Lake replied sarcastically.

"Alright, cut the chatter," Dakota said, "Yes, that was is a reason for our visit, but the main reason is that the Japanese know a helluva lot more about ship girls than we do. We're going to try to learn as much as possible from them."

"What about the language barrier?" asked Johnston, "I don't speak any Japanese, and of those here, Kongou is the only one who does."

Kongou replied quickly, "Most of the girls on my base speak at least a little English, it was necessary to teach them the language when your Navy was helping us out so much in the beginning."

"Kongou's right, the Japanese people treat English as a technical language, all of their technical manuals are written in English," Dakota clarified.

"So what are we supposed to do, walk down the gangplank and proclaim that we are the US Navy here to learn?" asked Atlanta in a mildly sarcastic tone.

"No, no no no, that would be a very bad idea," Kongou said, "There are a few of my friends who do not see the Americans in the best of lights. They're stuck in the past, and can't forgive you for the old war." Dakota raised a hand, indicating that she wanted complete silence.

Once everyone in the room was listening, she said, "When we tie up, myself and Kongou will go to meet with the base commander, one Captain…"

"Admiral," Kongou interrupted.

"Captain," Dakota stressed, "Muriname. He will then tell us the best way to go about explaining our identity to the ship girls of his base. Until then, everyone is to stay on this ship, is that clear?"

The rest of the room's occupants chorused, "Aye ma'am."

"And remember, you won't just be representing the US Navy on that base, you will be representing the entirety of the American people," Dakota said in no uncertain terms, "We'll be arriving soon, head back to your watch stations, and wait for my command, and Kongou, do I have to remind you of the secrecy of where you've bene for the last few weeks. I don't want you spilling the beans before we're ready."

Kongou stuck out her lip in a pout, "Of course, I know. I won't tell anyone that you're the battleship South Dakota."

"Good," Dakota replied, "Let's go head up topside, we should be pulling in any minute now."

* * *

The news of the American destroyer pulling into the Naval District docks had spread like wildfire. A good majority of the base's kanmusu had gathered in the area near where the ship had tied up. They were all waiting expectantly to see what would happen. The area near the end of the pier was now packed with girls. Admiral Muriname somehow managed to push his way through the throng, and stood between it and the American ship. "Okay, that's enough," he shouted, causing the crowd to quickly disperse. Fubuki decided to take her chances, and didn't leave with the rest of the girls. Muriname looked at her for a few seconds, obviously thinking about what to do. He eventually shrugged, and turned to look at the ship. "It's clear now, you can come on," he called, in English. Two seconds later he was knocked over as none other than Kongou ran down the gangplank.

'_What is Kongou doing on an American ship,_' Fubuki wondered briefly.

A new voice called, also in English, "Kongou, can you please refrain from bowling over ever senior officer you meet?" The voice came from another woman making her way down the gangplank. She was about twenty and was wearing that blue and gray camouflage that the Americans loved so much, Fubuki instantly guessed that she was a member of the American Navy. Muriname only grunted as he shoved off the energetic battleship.

"Your sisters are in the mess hall, Kongou," Muriname said as he pushed himself to his feet.

"See you later admiral," she said, then bounded off towards the mess. The second woman walked up to Muriname, and raised her hand in salute. It was the straight-armed American version of a salute, and it confirmed Fubuki's assessment that this woman was from the American Navy.

"Captain Muriname?" she said, questioningly. This surprised Fubuki, she knew Sato Muriname's real rank in the JMSDF, but everyone just simply called him admiral due to his role.

Muriname returned the salute, "Lieutenant Dakota I presume?"

"Yes, sir," the woman, named Dakota, replied.

"My office is this way lieutenant, we can discuss things in private there," Muriname said. Lieutenant Dakota nodded, then followed Admiral Muriname off towards the District headquarters, leaving a surprised Fubuki standing on the dock. A dozen questions ran through Fubuki's mind. Who was that woman? Why was she here? Was she a kanmusu, and if so, which one? She knew that there had been an American ship named _South Dakota _during the war, Kirishima talked about her facing off with the American battleship during the Solomon campaign. Was this unassuming looking American naval officer, the battleship _South Dakota_? Fubuki decided to head back to her room and try to work out her confusion someplace else.

* * *

**Pacific Ocean, off the coast of Australia**

They had done it again. The submarine force had run into another Abyssals task force, but this time it was made up of several combat vessels. Wahoo had decided that attacking the formation would be tantamount to suicide, so she had ordered silent running, but they had been spotted anyway. What followed was the single worst depth charging that Wahoo had ever encountered. IT had continued for at least an hour, and when it had finally ended, Wahoo had ordered the girls to stay down for an extra hour, just to be sure.

Then, inexplicably, it had resumed about ten minutes ago. Wahoo was floating at one hundred feet under the surface listening as the deadly bombs detonated above her head. The pounding was getting closer and closer as the attacking destroyers closed in for the kill. Then she heard a different sound, one that she didn't recognize. A multitude of splashes all in rapid succession, like someone throwing a handful of gravel into a pond. Her eyes went wide when she realized what had made the noise. There was only one anti-submarine weapon that she knew of that fired many rounds into the water, and there was no way that the Abyssals could be using one of those.

She quickly scrawled a message on her slate, and began to swim for the surface. Tang, thinking that her commander had finally lost it, grabbed Wahoo's led and tried to pull her back down. Wahoo held up the slate and showed Tang the message. It consisted of one word, "Hedgehog." Tang understood the message, and instantly let go of Wahoo. A few moments later, Wahoo's head broached the surface. She immediately began to transmit from her radio, "All forces in this vicinity, this is the United States submarine Wahoo operating with a six boat flotilla in this area. I say again I am operating a six submarine flotilla in this area."

A few seconds later Wahoo received the reply she had been hoping for, "Bloody hell Wahoo, you're more than two hundred kilometers off course."

"Station calling, station calling, my navigation hardware was disabled during the transit, be advised that we are operating by dead reckoning only," Wahoo replied.

"All units cease fire," the other voice said after a moment, "American submarine, this is the British destroyer Electra operating a four destroyer squadron two miles to your north. Bring your girls up and we'll lead you yanks back to base."

"Acknowledged, give me ten minutes to comply," Wahoo said, then dove back underwater. It took her almost the entire ten minutes to locate and drag each of her girls to the surface. When they got there, Wahoo saw three girls wearing what she assumed were Royal Navy enlisted blouses and slacks.

Wahoo spoke first, "Do you people make it a habit to shoot at everything that crosses your path?"

One of them approached her and said, "I'm Electra, sorry about the confusion, Wahoo, but you were supposed to be a more than a hundred kilometers south of here. We picked up something on ASDIC, and assumed that it had to be Abyssal."

"Well, you might want to check the contact next time before you start shooting," Wahoo relied testily.

"I apologize, but we learned fast that not shooting at every potential Abyssal, was a very good way to end up with a torpedo in your keel," Electra replied.

"You said you can escort us to Sydney?" Wahoo asked.

"Of course, and you look as if you need the rest," Electra replied, "Follow me." She turned about and sailed off in a different direction. The other American girls shot Wahoo a questioning look, which she answered with a shrug. Wahoo began to follow the retreating Brits, the rest of her girls in tow.

* * *

And that took forever to write, damn you writers block. As a blanket advisory, I will be putting a freeze on new character introductions for the next few chapters as I try to sort out all of the dangling plot threads I keep neglecting because of the ridiculously large cast of this story.

Anyway, review time:

FANFIC HUNTER: Yeah that was a pretty blatant reference, wasn't it.

Colonel Amiruddin Arif: Sort of is different the Navy way. Navy inspection teams are checking for combat readiness, at least shipboard teams are. For a shore instillation all the inspectors are checking for is to make sure that everything is in its proper place with its proper label.

Thorthemighty321: Well I try to sneak jokes in whenever I can.

NVA Commander Taney-Chan: I did look at _Taney_ as a character, and I do agree that she would make a good one, but I'm freezing new character introductions for a few chapters as I try to sort out the ones I already have.

SulliMike23: Half the problems in this story come from dealing bureaucracy, and there will be more to the whole public relations angle than I've let on.

Fanatic-Fanatica: I agree, didn't like the way it played out myself, reason I rewrote it.

Guest: Reminds me of the stories of "Torpedo juice" where sailors would crack open the early torpedoes that used pure alcohol as fuel. There will be a lot of interaction between the USN girls and the Royal Navy girls so some of that will come up.

FrancisJames: Well the way I see the girls, they're just normal humans, so why can't they use standard gear? And the Japanese probably wouldn't due to budget, or not enough trained personnel.

Andrey-159: That whole disclosure scene was pretty ambiguous, so I tried to re-write it.

hfdt123: As I mentioned, way way way to many plot threads. Fortunanley I do have a resolution for Walker's gang and the PBY, I just have to stick it in.

tarboxdouglas: That was a bit more of behind the scenes political machinations, because if I wrote all of that stuff down, it would make the story even more convoluted and complicated.

Wolfman-053: That was actually completely unintentional, I just picked a name at random for that one.

rmanning3str: The way that I think about it, is that for a ship to have a spirit, they had to be an active vessel with a crew. So, unfortunately, no paper ships or aborted projects

Starfox5: Saving the introductions for next chapter, which will be pretty much completely full of intros and foreign relations.


	13. Chapter 12

**Yokosuka Naval District, June 29, 2018**

Mornings at the Yokosuka Naval District usually started slowly. The girls assigned to the base weren't required to be up at any specific time, and daily tasks were usually assigned later in the day. In fact, the only girls awake at this early hour were those who wanted to get in a little extra training before the day began, but if there were any kanmusu walking out near where the American destroyer _Halsey_ was tied up, they would see a completely different style of life.

The ship was abuzz with activity, even at this early hour. Sailors coming of night watch were passing those going on morning watch, and the entire ship's company were preparing for the daily ritual of… "General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations." Instantly the destroyer broke out in frantic activity. All pretense of calm instantly vanished as sailors began to sprint for their battle stations, but no one seemed that anxious or worried about the whole ordeal.

The tradition of sounding general quarters at sunrise was an old one. During the early hours the rising sun cast clear definition over a ship's silhouette, and gave enemy ships and submarines a clear target to shoot at. With the advent of radar, sonar, and other advanced, non-visual means of detection, the practice had lapsed into antiquity, it had been decided that in this new war, it might be a good idea to be ready for a mourning attack. It wasn't really necessary for the _Halsey_ to be sounding general quarters while tied up, but when lives are on the line, every second counts.

The hangar deck was particularly alive with activity. The aviation division drilled with the Seahawk in one half, and the embarked shipgirls staged their equipment in the other. The hangar was their official battle station now, from here they could prepare to instantly launch to engage the abyssals. South Dakota was preforming her new morning routine, holding a stopwatch in her hand as she timed how long it took all of her girls to have their equipment out of the lockers and on the deck in front of them. "Come on come on," she barked, "If this was a real attack we would have less than a minute, you've already taken three."

Dakota was about to say something else along these lines, when, "all clear," sounded throughout the ship.

"Looks like you were saved by the bell," she said, quickly pocketing the stopwatch. The shipgirls in the room breathed a collective sigh of relief. O'Bannon dropped her gear on the deck, then walked over to Dakota.

"So, when are we going to do this big meet up with the Japs?" she asked.

Dakota looked down at the destroyer then said, "Just as soon as everyone gets their crap off the deck and restowed, we're meeting them in their mess for breakfast." She paused for a few seconds before shouting, "That goes for everyone, get your crap back in the lockers, now."

There was a chorus of, "Aye ma'am's," as the girls broke into another flurry of activity. Soon the deck was clear, and the girls were standing in a line, waiting for orders.

"Alright," Dakota began, "We're going to march off this ship and head over to the Jap's mess hall. Make sure you all have your sea bags packed for several days, because as soon as we leave, the _Halsey_ will be pulling up anchor and heading for the main base."

"Dakota?" asked Johnston, raising her hand.

"Yes," Dakota replied, giving the destroyer a quick nod.

"What is the uniform of the day?" Johnston asked, unconsciously tugging on her blouse.

Dakota instantly said, "For now, everyone is in NWUs, we want to look professional for our hosts. After that, then we can talk about going back to you unit uniforms." Dakota quickly looked around the room to see if anyone else had a question. Seeing that no one did, she cleared her throat then said, "Remember, when we're out there, you aren't just representing yourselves. You are acting as the direct representatives of the United States Navy, don't screw this up. Now let's go." Dakota watched as the line of American ship girls stepped off and began to snake their way through the _Halsey _towards the gangplank.

Even if there was no set wake up time for Yokosuka, one is guaranteed to find almost every single girl on the base in the same place at the same time every day. The only place on base to get food in the morning is the main mess hall, and they only serve the morning meal until 1000hrs, so if a girl wants to eat in the morning, she needs to be awake and in the mess by then. By 1000, the mess was packed with kanmusu getting their morning meals. The room was filled with the constant murmur of girls chatting and talking, but it died instantly when Captain Muriname walked into the room. The captain was a rare sight in this room, he only came in to relay news or information of vital importance. Today he walked to the far side of the room, and loudly cleared his throat, causing the room to instantly go quiet.

"Good morning everyone," he began, "I have a few announcements for today. Many of you were curious as to why an American ship has docked at our base." A quiet murmur of agreement ran through the girls. "And many of you have surmised that it would only be a matter of time before the American Navy began to summon kanmusu of their own."

Now a tone of shock and disbelief ran through the girls. "The Americans? Here?"

"That time has finally come," Muriname continued, ignoring the hushed comments, "The Americans have sent us a detachment of their best kanmusu with the express purpose of learning more about our common foe." The room exploded with voices. Everyone was excitedly discussing the revelation that their former enemies were on the base with them. Admiral Muriname let out a loud whistle instantly quieting the room. "Now let me introduce our guests," he turned to someone standing in the rear door and said in English, "Lieutenant, come in." The entire room turned to watch as a procession of girls wearing the blue and gray digital camo that the USN preferred walked into the room. The marched with a disciplined step, coming to a halt behind where Muriname was standing.

The commander of the detachment, the girl standing at the head of the line, gave a soft command, and all of the girls snappily turned to face towards the kanmusu assembled in the mess. There was a few seconds of silence, before the mess exploded with noise.

* * *

**Naval Station Midway Island**

They were finally done. The inspection team had scoured over every inch of the base with a fine comb and had complied their final report. Smith knew that he should be feeling relieved that the inspection was over, or elation that the report had proclaimed that his command was "excellent" in all areas of military endeavor, but right now all he couldn't feel much of anything. _'Damn, I didn't realize just how out of shape I was,'_ he groaned inwardly as he walked into his quarters. Smith had finally given into the insistence of Chief Boggs and several other members of his senior staff, and had moved his flag to one of the small houses that lined the northern end of the island.

He stumbled into his quarters, peeled off his boots, and then made his way back to the shower. The inspection had taken a lot out of the island's personnel, but everyone had performed admirably under the IG team's close scrutiny. It hadn't been a surprise to Smith at all when Captain Ryan had handed him the clipboard with the words, "Excellent overall," written across the top. Right now Smith didn't want to think about inspections, bureaucracy, or the paper pushers back at HQ. No, all he wanted right now was to get in a good shower and hit his rack.

After scraping the barnacles off for about ten minutes, he headed back to the bedroom at the back of the house. The lights were off per normal, but he had lived in these quarters for long enough to know how to navigate in the dark. He eased himself into the bed and had just closed his good eye, when he heard a voice beside him say, "It certainly took you long enough." Smith shouted in surprise and managed to roll himself off the bed. He slowly sat up from the floor listening to the soft laughter of his wife as she sat over him on the bed.

"Oh yes, real funny," he said, "You know what would happen if someone caught us together in here, alone?"

"Relax James, not only are we a married couple, as long as I'm on the SecNav's payroll, I'm outside your chain of command," Sarah said, reaching down to help James back to his feet, "Besides, who's going to care, the girls?"

"If you heard some of the stories that Commander Miyata told me, you might want to rethink that statement," James mused as he sat back on the bed.

"On that subject," Sarah began, making Smith cringe inwardly, "I had a discussion with Enterprise earlier this week, and do you know what she told me?"

"No, dear," James replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sarah slapped him on the shoulder and said, "She said that you never told her you were married. Is there a reason for that?"

"You know me," James began, "I keep my personal life out of my naval service. It just never came up, and I never volunteered it."

"So you had a base full of attractive, young women, and you never once let slip the fact that you were married? How many of them do you think are in love with you right now?" Sarah asked, voice deadly serious.

"We train them to well for that," James deflected, "Discipline in following orders, and all that."

"James," Sarah said, "You really think naval regulations stop people from falling in love?"

James sighed, loudly, then replied, "No, I don't, and if what Miyata tells me is true, a few of the girls will be infatuated with me right now, but too afraid to at on their emotions. This whole mess is a minefield waiting for someone with size thirteen boots to waltz on through."

"So, you decided to solve the problem by ignoring it?" Sarah asked, a little disappointedly.

"No, I decided to wait and not make the problem worse than it is," James replied, then tried to change the subject, "Is there a reason for you scaring me half to death tonight, or did you just do it for kicks?"

"As a matter of fact, there is a reason for why I'm here," Sarah replied, sitting up in the bed. "I completed my first brief for the SecNav, and I want your opinion on it."

"Isn't that supposed to be between the secretary and you?" Smith asked.

"He told me that seeking your opinions and clarifications was perfectly alright, but I have to write the reports myself," she explained. Sarah leaned across James's chest and picked up something off of the side table. Smith could barely see in the dark room, but he knew that it was a bundle of paper. Sarah thrust the paper into Smith's hands, and he was forced to lean up and turn on the table lamp in order to get enough light to read it.

It began: **Eyes Only Secretary of the Navy**. "Are you sure I can read this?" James asked after reading that bit.

"Yes, he told me that I could let you read over it before I sent it," Sarah repeated.

"Fine," James said, then went back to the paper.

**Classification: Top Secret**

**Priority: Urgent**

Dear Mr. Secretary,

As per your earlier instructions, I will be phrasing this message in the form of a personal letter, let me know if the way I do it is acceptable. Moving forward, I'm certain that you know much more about the nature of the ship girls than I do, but to know these girls, to really know them, you have to meet them. These girls have so many stories to tell, so many memories to endure, it's amazing that they can function as well as they do. For clarification, these girls are, think, and act completely human. They can instantly switch to having discussions just like any young girl, to reverently remembering past experiences. These girls are an asset, not just in our war against the Abyssals, but afterwards as well.

As per your earlier question, I do think that it would be a good idea to move a force of girls back to the States, prevent all of our eggs from being in the same basket, so to say. And while we're answering questions, on the creation of a unit to operate in the Atlantic. There are several girls here who saw extensive service in the Atlantic theater back during WWII, and it might be beneficial to reassign them there.

I am happy to announce that your fears of behind the sabotage were unfounded, this time. The IG team was completely professional and didn't let any bias sneak into their report. But who's to say that the next team will be as indifferent?

Moving onto the subject of the upcoming press conference, Captain Smith has suggested, and I agree, that holding off the event until both forward deployed teams return would be beneficial. The teams comprise the most experienced girls, and it would be advantageous to have them speak on their own behalf. Captain Smith estimates that it will take no longer than a week to ten days for both teams to return to Midway.

That's all for now Mr. Secretary, if I have anything else to report, I'll pass it on soon.

V/R,

CMDR Sarah Smith

James lowered the message form when he was done reading, and Sarah asked, "Well?"

"What is this about new units and reassignments?" James asked.

"That was the Secretary and the CNO's idea," Sarah explained, "CNO wants to form a new ship girl command on the West Coast, either in Diego or Everett, as soon as you can cut the transfer orders. Creating a division on the East Coast is a bit more long term. There are a lot more friendlies in the Atlantic, but they'll need reinforcement soon."

James slowly nodded his head, "Just how soon are we talking about?"

"A month or more," Sarah replied, "We want to make sure that the transferees are experienced and well trained."

"Fine, I'll start thinking abut that," James said, "Well unless you want to drop a new bombshell on me, I think now is the perfect time to turn in."

"Nope, I saved those for Thursday night," Sarah said, "Thought I'd give you peace for getting though the IG." James chuckled dryly, then reached up and switched of the lamp. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

**Yokosuka Naval District**

The idea had originally be Captain Muriname's, let the girls et to know each other and meet by class, that way they could at least find a little common ground to work with. That's why Dakota was in the battleship dorm, Hornet was with the carriers, the cruisers were with their peers, and the destroyers were getting to know their counterparts. Dakota was extremely apprehensive about her first meeting with the Japanese battleships. If what she had been told was true, they were some of the most traditional girls on the base. Plus it didn't help that Kirishima would be among their number. That was not a reunion Dakota was looking forward to.

The battleships were housed in a large, brick building on the outskirts of the base. When she had asked Muriname why they were so far from the center of the base, he had replied that it was to lessen the damage of the explosions. Dakota had no idea what that was about but got the distinct feeling that Muriname was being completely serious. Dakota paused briefly outside of the dorm and took a deep breath. She was a lieutenant in the United States Navy. Meeting a few old enemies would be easy compared to some of the other things she had done. With a sigh, she pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

She was immediately met inside by a very energetic Kongou. "Oh Dakota, you made it," she said, "Let me introduce you to everyone." Kongou grabbed Dakota by the hand and began to drag her around the room. "This is Nagato, but I'm sure you've already met her, and this is her sister Mutsu," Kongou announced, stopping in front of a pair of girls. Dakota started to say something in greeting, when Kongou continued to drag her across the room. "And here is the pride and joy of the fleet, the battleship Yamato," Kongou paused in front of a startlingly tall girl who managed to give Dakota a shy smile before Kongou dragged her off again. "And here are my sisters, Hiei, Kirishima, and Haruna," Hiei looked at Dakota with a wide smile, Haruna looked like all she wanted to do was run away, and Kirishima fixed her with an intense glare.

Dakota figured that the introductions were complete, due to the fact that there were no other girls in the room, so she quickly turned to Kongou, "I thought you had more battleships than this?"

"Oh, we do," Kongou replied, "But they're spread out around several bases, and a few are on missions right now." Dakota nodded slowly, then walked to the center of the room.

She cleared her throat then said in a loud voice, "I'm sure you are all aware, I'm the battleship USS South Dakota, hull number BB-57."

Nagato stood up first, she spoke in a calm measured tone, making sure not to misspeak, "How long have the Americans been working on a shipgirl program and what other ships have you summoned?" The question caught Dakota a little off guard, she had been expecting questions about herself personally.

"About two months," she replied after a minute of thought, "And I can't tell you everyone who's come back, there were about fifty ship girls on the base when we left for here."

"Speaking of which," Nagato continued, "Where is the base that you have been using?" Dakota weighed her response for several seconds, eventually concluding that revealing the location of the American ship girl base wouldn't be an egregious breach of security.

"Midway," she replied. Dakota winced inwardly after she had said that. The memory of that battle was apparently still quite fresh in the minds of these girls, and a good number of them fixed her with hard stares. Dakota found a place to sit down and let the other battleships adjust to her presence and the revelations that she had brought with her. She was surprised when Kirishima stood up and walked to the center of the room where she had been standing.

"I have a question for you South Dakota," she asked, "Where was my sister? I know it had something to do with you, and I want you to tell me."

Dakota began to answer, but Kongou jumped up and beat her to it, "I was with the yanks on their base. Admiral Muriname approached me about serving as a temporary liaison a while ago." Everyone in the room turned to look a Kongou in disbelief. "What," she replied, "That's where Admiral Miyata went."

"Admiral Miyata went to an American base?" Nagato said, surprised, "When?"

Dakota stood up again and explained, "Commander Miyata came to our base as a special liaison and training officer a few weeks ago. He was still there when we left."

Nagato nodded at this statement, then said, "I understand that you are here to ask us questions, where would you like to begin?"

"What can you tell me about the Abyssals? We've only fought them a few times so far and I would like to know more," Dakota replied, almost instantly. Nagato nodded solemnly at the request and began to explain everything she knew about the Abyssals.

* * *

Things in the destroyer dorms were going a bit, differently than they were in the battleships dorm. "Why are you wearing such funny clothes?" asked Fubuki, who was serving as a translator for the girls in the room who spoke little English.

"You mean the NWUs?" replied Nicholas, who was sitting in a chair in the center of the room. As the highest ranking person in the room, she was fielding the most questions. Johnston was sitting next to her acting like this was a perfectly normal day for her, Radford was casting furtive glances around the room trying to come to conclusions about the rest of the destroyers, and O'Bannon was standing in the back corner trying to keep her mouth shut. "It's what regular sailors of the US Navy wear on a day to day basis, and we're considered to be regular sailors for all intents and purposes," Nicholas continued.

"And," O'Bannon added from the back of the room, "We could never get away with the sorts of costumes that you people wear." Nicholas cringed slightly at that, and Johnston leaned back in her chair to slap O'Bannon on the shoulder. "What," she said, "It's true."

Fubuki gave O'Bannon a hurt look and said, "But these are the clothes we came back with, why would we wear anything else?"

"If you want to know the real reason," Johnston replied, leaning forward, "It's because these uniforms are designed solely with combat in mind. Thick material, fairly waterproof, and lots of big pockets to hold gear. Navy tells me to wear something that will help me fight, I'll do it."

One of the other destroyers, Inazuma if Nicholas remembered correctly, raised her hand, then asked, "What are the things pinned to your uniforms?" Nichols cocked her head in a questioning look, then Inazuma pointed to Nicholas' collar.

"Oh, you mean the collar point devices," Nicholas said, "We all hold different ranks in the navy. For example, the gold bars I'm wearing mean that I'm an ensign, and the chevrons that Johnston here is wearing mean that she's a petty officer."

"You hold an officer's rank?" Fubuki asked, shocked.

"Yes," Nicholas replied, "But only because I'm the commander of squadron. Only a few of our girls hold officer billets, most are petty officers."

Inazuma spoke up next, "So what do you do for fun on your base?"

"Shoot things," O'Bannon replied gruffly, earning her another smack.

"We do have a pretty nice club," Radford replied, "With plenty of games and places to hang out."

"But because the cruisers managed to get everyone addicted to an online game, pretty much everyone's been playing that exclusively," Johnston added, "We're all trying to unlock our own ships. Damn four stackers have it easy."

Inazuma spoke up again, "Speaking of classes, I heard that you are all of the _Fletcher _class, and there were lots and lots of ships in that class. Do you consider each one to be a sister?"

"Sort of," replied Nicholas, "I mean I do feel a connection to every other _Fletcher _girl I meet, but I don't feel like we're related. The _Fletchers_ were built in at least a dozen different yards over several years. There are some girls I feel closer to than others, I guess it has to do with where we were built."

"It's similar for us," Fubuki said, "I know that there are a lot of girls who should be my sisters, but I only really feel like a few really are."

"Just another one of those things we'll probably never understand," Nicholas mused, "Anyway, you girls have any other quick questions, because if not I'd like to have my girls stow their luggage." Most of the Japanese destroyers in the room shook their heads no, then began to file out. Nicholas shrugged, and then stood up. "Come one you lot," she said, "Time to find our racks."

* * *

Things in the cruiser dorms had to going the strangest of all. They had all splintered into many groups, discussing topics with like-minded peers. There were half a dozen conversations going on in that room at the same time. They were only interrupted slightly by the pair dueling in the corner. When the American cruisers had first entered the building, the light cruiser Teryuu had noticed something about one of them. She had challenged her to a practice bout with their swords, and now Tenryuu's curved blade was clanging against Salt Lake City's own sword, a pattern 1941 Navy cutlass that she wore whenever she wet anywhere.

Their sisters, Tatsuta and Pensacola respectively, were standing a few paces back from the match, making sure that neither girl hurt themselves, and discussing various random topics in the process. Atlanta was engaged in conversation in the back corner of the room with the light cruiser Naka. They were discussing, surprisingly, music. Naka was going over, in depth, her dreams to one day become an idol recognized by all the Japanese people, and Atlanta was talking about her thoughts on a possible

music career. Atlanta was idly strumming on a guitar that she had been given by a chief aboard the _Halsey_, and even Naka had to admit, even without formal training, she was pretty good at it.

Northampton was standing in the back of the room, talking with several other cruisers about what life was like for the American girls. They all found it rather horrifying that the Americans would willingly wake up each day at 0600, and put themselves under the authority of regular Navy types. But they did admit jealousy to actually being recognized by their navy as equal to the regular members.

Finally the swordfight drew to a close as both combatants agreed that now would be a good time to stop. Tenryuu drew a hand up and mopped at the sweat on her brow, before saying, "Your pretty good, for a yankee. Why do you carry a sword, I thought guns were more your country's style?"

Salt Lake carefully re-sheathed her cutlass and replied, "They are, and I do carry a sidearm into battle, but there are just sometimes when guns don't work. Plus, we had dozens of these old cutlasses lying around in our armory, so I requisitioned one."

Tenryuu nodded at the explanation, and then stuck out her hand, "Well, I would be glad to face off with an opponent of your skill any day." Salt Lake took the hand, and nodded her appreciation. "Now let's go get us some grub, I'm sure that little workout worked up just as much of an appetite for you."

"Quite," Salt Lake replied.

* * *

Of all the American girls, Hornet currently had it the worst. She was in a room filled with girls who she had, back when they were all ships, fought and sunk. The veterans of Midway were especially wary of the American who had helped to end their country's dominance in the Pacific. _'I wonder what they'll think when they meet Enterprise,'_ Hornet thought idly as she scanned the room again. To make everything worse, not all of the Japanese carriers spoke passable English, so everything that Hornet said, and all questions asked of her, had to be directed through a translator.

After the initial revelation that she was one of the three American carriers from Midway, the girl who had been the Kaga, had stood up and stomped out of the room in a huff, uttering a few derisive phrases in Japanese. When Hornet had asked what her deal was, one of the other carriers, Zuikaku, had simply said, "Pay no mind to the 1st division, she's always like that." Kaga's exit had lowered the number of carriers in the room to just three, Hornet, Zuikaku, and Zuikaku's sister, Shoukaku.

Hornet began by asking, "Where are your other carriers? I thought you had more than this."

Shoukaku replied, "We have more than one kanmusu base in the home islands. Currently our numbers are split between four bases, and there are several carriers out with the current patrols."

"I have a question for you, yankee," Zuikaku asked, "Where's your bow?"

"Excuse me?" hornet replied, not understanding.

"All standard carriers use a bow to launch their aircraft," Zuikaku explained, "Where's yours?"

"I don't use a bow to launch airplanes," Hornet replied.

"So what do you use?" Zuikaku asked.

"Here, I'll show you," Hornet said, then threw her sea bag on the deck. She had received permission from Dakota to carry her carbine onto the base, with the stipulation that it remain unloaded an in its case unless there was a dire emergency. Hornet figured that displaying the rifle wouldn't be that dangerous. She pulled out the plastic case, and laid it on the deck. With the quick flip of the wrist, the latches were undone and the top flipped open.

"You use a rifle?" asked Shoukaku, a note of surprise in her voice.

Zuikaku only started chuckling, "Of course she would use a rifle, she's an American after all. They're all super gun nuts, aren't they?"

"No, not really, but this carbine is light and handy," Hornet replied, hefting the rifle in her hands, "And it has a lot less kick than Enterprise's Springfield." Zuikaku's gaze snapped up to Hornet immediately when she heard that statement.

"Enterprise, you mean Enterprise has come back?" she asked.

"Why yes," Hornet replied, sounding as if she thought that this should be obvious, "So has Yorktown and a few others. All of my sisters are back under command of the USN."

"I would like to meet her someday," Shoukaku mused, "We faced off so many times. It would be nice to meet her in person. What is she like?"

Hornet chewed her lip in thought for a few seconds before she replied, "She's one of the best tactical commanders in our ranks. She's also has the rank of lieutenant and is the exec of our base."

"If what I've read, and remember, about her is true, that doesn't surprise me at all," Zuikaku replied.

"I better put this away before someone sees me with it out," Hornet announced, changing the subject. She didn't wait for permission, but rather re-sealed the rifle in its case and replaced it in her sea bag.

"I want to see how that thing works in action," Zuikaku commented, "Perhaps we can visit the practice range later."

"Oh I'm not that good with it," Hornet replied, "If you really want to see marksmanship, then watch Enterprise or Langley shoot, they really know how."

"Langley, as in your first carrier Langley?" Shoukaku asked.

"Yep," Hornet replied, "Closest thing all us carriers have to a mother. She really isn't on the active list right now, too slow and outdated for the current fight, but she is in charge of carrier training right now."

"We also have our first carrier, Houshou. She is in a very similar situation to Langley," Shoukaku commented, "Perhaps they could be convinced to meet one day?"

"Perhaps," Hornet said, gears already turning in her head.

"But for now," Zuikaku cut in, "Let's get you gear to your room, before 1st Division comes back and starts making things difficult again." Hornet nodded, then hefted the heavy bag over her shoulders, then followed as Zuikaku led her farther into the carrier dorm.

* * *

**NS Midway Island**

Fletcher was extremely relieved after the inspection was concluded. After her cast had come of, she had found herself in an interesting position. As the ranking destroyer, she had automaticaly been given command of all destroyers on the island. What that meant was that she had to take two dozen destroyers and convince them to at least act like regular sailors for a few weeks. It was hard duty, but Fletcher was a good sailor. When good sailors are given an order, they say, "Aye, aye, sir" and go about following said order.

The responsibility for ensuring that two dozen odd destroyer girls passed muster with the IG had weighed heavily on her shoulders. Most of these girls couldn't care less about proper military bearing and appearance. They followed orders alright, and were extremely disciplined in their actions, but seemed to get caught up on the more esoteric customs of the Naval Service, such as wearing dress uniforms or standing in formation. It had been a round the clock job in order to get the rest of the destroyers to the point where they could pass muster with the IG.

Fletcher was understandably relieved when the inspection was concluded, and she could stop reminding the destroyers that they were still members of the US Navy. She was currently lying face down in her rack, dog tired after running a major training evolution with the entire destroyer force. She winced when she heard the sound of someone pounding on her door, and then the captain ask, "Permission to come in?"

"Granted," Fletcher groaned, barely remembering to append, "Sir." She didn't look up as the captain walked into the room and sat down on the bed next to Fletcher.

"You feel up for a vid call?" he asked.

"Maybe, sir. From who?" she replied, rolling over to look up at Smith.

He tried to suppress a wry smile as he replied, "Just DesRon 21." Fletcher shot up all semblance of fatigue leaving her body.

"Sir?" she said, questioningly.

"They reached Japan a few days ago, and have been meeting with our Japanese counterparts since then," Smith explained, "I got a call from them waiting in the War Room."

Fletcher swung her legs off the bed, then said, "Lead on, sir." Smith nodded, then began to walk out of the room. Fletcher walked into the War Room to see that a live video feed was being displayed on the big screen.

It currently displayed Nicholas sitting in the center with Radford, O'Bannon, and Johnston standing around her.

O'Bannon spoke first, "How've ya been sis?"

"Good," Fletcher replied, "They finally broke out the busted wing a few days ago, and promptly put me in charge of leading the destroyers through the inspection."

"I do not envy you right now," Radford commented.

"It's good to see you all again, what's it like meeting with the Japs?" Fletcher asked.

"It's… different," replied Nicholas, "None of them are actually a part of the JMSDF, so they are considered to be civilians, and are treated as such. Nobody over here wears anything even resembling a uniform, and were quite surprised to see that we do."

"Sounds interesting," Fletcher said.

"Good news though, none of the destroyers seem to care that our respective nations were once at war," Nicholas continued, "In fact, only Hornet really had a problem with that. One of their carriers doesn't want to forget Midway."

"That's good," Fletcher said, nodding, "So what have you learned about the Abyssals?"

"Not a whole lot," Johnston replied before Nicholas could, "The destroyers don't seem to be the most knowledgeable on the subject, but Dakota has been pumping the battleship for all they could give her."

"So Fletcher, will you be able to rejoin the Ron when we get back?" Nicholas asked, cutting to the chase.

"Doc cleared me for full duty," Fletcher replied, "I will be rejoining your ranks as soon as you return, and I cannot wait."

Johnston spoke up, "Captain Smith?" she asked.

Smith, who had been watching from the back of the room replied, "Yes?"

"Will I be leaving DesRon 21 when Fletcher rejoins?" she asked.

"We still don't have any of the other girls from your Ron, Johnston. I think that you are just fine where you are," Smith replied.

"Yes sir, thank you sir," Johnston replied.

"Welcome aboard, Johnston," Fletcher said, "I'm sure you'll do just fine with the best DesRon in the world." Nicolas looked away from the camera for a second, obviously listening to someone off camera.

"Well," she said turning back, "We're out of time. They need the satellite for something else. So, hang in there Fletcher, and we'll see you when we get back."

"Goodbye sister, I hope to see you soon," added Radford, quickly.

"I hope so too," Fletcher mused. Then the screen went black.

After a moment of silence, Smith asked, "So?"

"So, what, sir?" Fletcher replied.

"So what did you think of your sisters?" he added.

"I think that I want nothing more than to be with them right now," she sighed, "But I'll have to wait until they get back, and it'll be one of the longest waits of my life."

"Well if you need any help, you know where to find me," Smith replied. Then he stood up, leaving Fletcher alone in the room. She sat there for several more minutes, thinking hard about what had just happened.

* * *

**Headquarters United Kingdom Pacific Shipgirl Corps, Sydney, Australia **

Prince of Wales was trying very hard not to put her fist through her office wall. If the report she was holding was to be trusted, two of the American submarines had skipped the base last night to go bar crawling. After a long series of public disturbances—rowdy behavior, public drunkenness, and minor vandalism—they had been confronted by a shore patrol from the naval base. That had resulted in a brief confrontation, wherein two of the SP's had been knocked out, and one of the Americans, Harder, had to be taken down with a taser to stop her from injuring a third. Both of the offending Americans, Harder and Sealion, had been locked up in the local stockade for the time being while it was decided whether or not to press court martial charges.

"Good lord," Wales groaned, "I hope the rest of the Yanks aren't like these submarines. Who needs to fight Abyssals if this is how our allies act?" Prince of Wales had many responsibilities as the commander of the Pacific Fleet of the British Shipgirl Corps. One of these to step in if one of the shipgirls got into trouble with the authorities.

The British ran their shipgirl forces in a much different way from the Americans. The Americans had adopted a style of cooperation and teamwork between their shipgirls and regular sailors, where they all held equivalent ranks and took and gave orders to each other without question. The British had decided to allow their girls to operate with almost complete autonomy. They received and obeyed orders from a select few senior officers, but were allowed to operate however they saw fit for the rest of the time. Wales had been assigned as the commander of the Pacific Fleet by the current head of the program, King George V, due to her past knowledge of the area. She was also one of the only battleships who could be spared from the home fleet to help defend the more distant members of the commonwealth.

Wale's comments hadn't gone unheard, and her assistant stuck her head into Wale's office. "Is there something wrong?" asked the heavy cruiser, Exeter.

"Just the ridiculousness of situations that those yank submarines keep putting me through," Wales replied, sliding the piece of paper across the desk so that Exeter could read it. Exeter let out a low whistle upon skimming its contents.

"What are you going to do now?" Exeter asked after a minute.

"Right now? Right now I'm going to call in the American's commander, so that I can pass this mess onto her," Wales replied, "Then I will wash my hands of this mess, and leave the Americans to sort it out."

"You think they'll be able to get their submarines out of the stockade?" Exeter asked.

"I think that the yanks are resourceful enough to try," Wales said, "And of they run into trouble, I'm sure we could work something out with the base commander. Go ahead and call Miss Wahoo in to see me, then go see about locating the rest of the visiting submarines, I want to make sure that they can't do something like this again."

"I'll get right on that," Exeter replied, then spun and walked out of the office.

"Shot with a taser," Wales remarked idly, with a shake of her head, "I truly hope the yanks are that crazy about fighting the Abyssals."

* * *

**A/N: **Not doing review answers this time because this chapter was delayed enough as it was. For explanation as to my absence, I was attending my university's NROTC indoc course last week, and was not able to access the internet during that time.

I am back now but my schedule is a lot stricter now as I have returned to attending school full time now and am also in the NROTC program as well. Expect updates to be more scattered, and spread out.

I know I didn't go into the character interactions that much this chapter, it was meant as a pure meet 'n greet, expect more interaction between the Japanese and American girls next chapter.

If you have any questions, ask over on Spacebattles, and I'll try to answer them.


	14. Chapter 13

**Office of Naval Intelligence, Washington, D.C., June 31, 2018**

Vice Admiral Thomas Lockhart was having a very bad day. "If there's one thing for certain in this world," he muttered to himself, gruffly, "It's that nothing, absolutely nothing, will get rid of Washington traffic. Not even a goddamned oil shortage." The city's infamous traffic had turned what should have been a fifteen minute drive, into something that had taken five times as long and nearly pushed the admiral towards a psychotic breakdown. He rolled up to the main gate nearly thirty minutes after the time he would have liked to.

Tommy Lockhart was a rather unassuming man. At five foot nothing and a slim figure, he wouldn't stick out in any crowd, and he preferred to keep his crop of silver hair trimmed short. He wore on his uniform blouse a pair of gold dolphins, and an impressive array of ribbons that denoted a lifetime of service to the United States Navy. The hard charging admiral had made a name for himself in the submarine community, before he made the transition into intelligence. He had been the director of the Office of Naval Intelligence for the last five years, serving through the terms of two CNOs and just as many Presidents.

Lockhart's car sat motionless as the master at arms in the guard shack came out to check on its occupant. No one, not even the director himself, got into the ONI campus without a thorough identity check, and the guards took their jobs extremely seriously. Admiral Lockhart sat in silence as the MA ran his CAC card through a handheld reader, then checked to make sure that Lockhart's face matched the one that was printed on the card. The MA finally decided that the Admiral was exactly who he claimed to be, and went to open the gate.

The Office of Naval Intelligence was an inconspicuous cluster of office buildings on the outskirts of D.C. People passing the campus had little idea what happened behind those walls, exactly as planned. Lockhart made his way towards the largest of the buildings. This one housed the administration side of things, and was where he found himself wasting away a disappointingly large part of his life. It didn't take him long to ride the main elevator up to the top floor of the building.

His secretary, a middle aged woman who had been working her job longer than he had, looked up from her desk to see him step off the elevator. "Good morning, admiral," she greeted.

"Morning," he replied, "There anything in for me?"

She cast a few furtive glances to the door marked with his name and position, and said, "Your adjutant just walked in there a few minutes ago, he was carrying that attaché of his."

"Oh boy," Lockhart said, then leaned in close so only the secretary could hear what he said next, "Give him ten minutes, then ring my phone."

"Does the admiral have something against the adjutant?"

"Only when he rambles on for two hours about something that he could have explained in twenty minutes," Lockhart replied, "Thanks."

"Anytime, admiral," the secretary replied. Lockhart gave her a curt nod of thanks, then pushed open the heavy, oak door to his office. He was immediately greeted by Captain Ken Wingate, his adjutant.

"Good morning, admiral," he greeted.

"That is yet to be decided," Lockhart replied as he slid behind his desk. He was relieved to see that a steaming cup of coffee was waiting for him, he made a quick note to thank his secretary, then asked, "So what's going on in the world today?" Wingate sat an attaché case on the desk, and then removed a large, sheaf of paper. He rifled through the stack until he found the sheet he was looking for.

"Europe was pretty quiet for once, I think things are starting to stabilize over there," Wingate read off the sheet, "Brits got another convoy into Norfolk. Sealift Command is still working out shipping manifests for that." Wingate read half a dozen other minor events that had occurred last night. This was something of a morning ritual for Lockhart, he always started his day by reviewing the previous night's reports. Of course the sort of information he was receiving now was much different than what he had grown accustomed to in the past.

With the beginning of the Abyssal war, the world had changed drastically. As countries started to become cut off from the rest of the world, new problems arose. With alliances strained and supplies short, half a dozen border wars over natural resources started overnight. If they ever did manage to defeat the Abyssals, the world would be a much different place.

"What's the situation at Midway?" Lockhart asked. Even though the oversight of the Fleet Auxiliary program had been shifted to surface command pacific, all intelligence that they gathered was still sent up to his office.

"The CO down there reports that both of his combat teams have reached their final destinations. We'll get a full report when they get back to Midway," Wingate explained.

"So, is that all?" Lockhart asked

"No, sir," Wingate continued his impromptu briefing, "The Russians are going after the Chinese again."

"What?" Lockhart said, confused, "I thought that they were too busy dealing with those communist revolutionaries to take another stab at China?"

"Well, apparently they're not as bad off as we'd thought," Wingate replied. He shuffled through the case until he came up with a stack of photographs. "These came in from NRO this morning, Sam Willis thought we might want to look at them." This statement piqued Lockhart's interest immediately. The National Reconnaissance office was in charge of the United States' large fleet of intelligence gathering satellites, and represented one of the only remaining intelligence sources. If the NRO's director thought that these pictures were important, then they probably were. Wingate laid them out on the desk, and Lockhart set down is mug to take a closer look.

"What am I looking at?" he asked after a minute.

"Sir, one of our keyholes took these of Vladivostok last night," Wingate explained, "If you look here at the southern end of the port, you can see that there are heat blooms in the docked ships. This indicates that they are in the process of firing up their engineering plants. This, along with a few shots we have of them massing military forces at the Russo-Chinese border, indicates to us that they are about to try another attempt at invading China."

"Well, there's not much we can do to intervene on that front," Lockhart admitted, begrudgingly. When the brief was completed, Lockhart had expected Wingate to leave, but the captain was still in the room a look of consternation on his face. "Is there something else, captain?" Lockhart asked.

"Just this, sir," he finally said, and extracted one more photograph, "The keyhole bird that spotted the Russians, also picked up this." Lockhart took the photo and studied it.

His eyes went wide and he asked quietly, "Where was this taken?"

"The South Pacific was all I was told," Wingate walked over to a large map on Lockhart's wall, and put a finger on a point, "About here."

"Keep things running around here," Lockhart said, standing up, "I need to get these to the President, and have someone call the White House to let them know I'm on the way."

"Of course, sir," Wingate replied, "Any idea how important this will be?"  
"Son, this could change the whole course of the war," Lockhart said, quickly snapping shut his briefcase. He walked out of the office a few seconds later, and reached the White House thirty minutes after that.

**NS Midway Island**

Commander Charles Walker was currently doing something he loved doing, tinkering with an old airplane. For all he enjoyed flying helicopters, Charlie Walker was a fixed wing pilot at heart. He had made a career out of being able to fly any aircraft in the Navy's arsenal, and had been behind the stick of everything from E-2C Hawkeyes to F/A-18 Hornets. Even before he began his naval service, Walker had been flying. He had grown up in the wilds of Alaska, where a simple trip to a grocery store required an airplane.

Getting the chance to restore the old Catalina was an opportunity that Walker had been waiting for a long time. He had spent most of his off duty hours in this hangar working over every fault he could find with the airplane, and there were many. He was currently looking for a problem with the aileron control cable. It was sticking in the fully extended position, and he had no idea where the problem lay. That was why he was currently lying on his back, head stuck under the pilot's seat, fiddling with the bolts that attacked the control cables to the yoke. "Hey, Peary," he called, "Can you pass me the ¾ inch socket?" The three four stackers who had originally found this plane were, unsurprisingly, interested in Walker's repair work, and spent most of their own free time helping him in any way they could.

Peary lowered the PBY Catalina operations manual she had been perusing, and reached down to pick up the requested tool from the toolbox sitting by her feet. He slid out, then took the offered socket head. "Thank you," he said, then wiggled his way back under the chair.

"Have you found what's wrong?" Peary asked.

"I think so," Walker replied, "One of the bolts had loosened and pinned the cable. It should be fixed now."

"If you don't need my help, I have to be at a training session in ten minutes," Peary announced.

"No," Walker replied, "Go, I don't want your training coordinator to jump on my back."

"Aye, sir," she replied, then jumped out her seat. Walker slid back to look at the little destroyer as she walked out of the flight deck. He felt a pang of sympathy for the girl as she left. Due to her relative obsolescence, it had been decided that she—and her classmates—would be only allowed to serve in a rear echelon capacity. She had come back for the express purpose of defending the country that had built her, only to learn that she couldn't because of her age. The normally upbeat, energetic destroyer had spent the last several days in a funk that no one knew how to bring her out of. Walker was more than happy to let her work with him on the Catalina in order to get her mind off her future.

Walker waited until he had left the PBY, then got back to work on the stuck bolt. The damn thing must have rusted, because he couldn't break it free no matter what he tried. '_I'm going to have to remove the chair in order to get the leverage_,' he thought, dreading having to pull off the heavy thing.

"Hello?" said a new voice, an unfamiliar voice.

"Ah," Walker said, startled. He tried to sit up, forgetting that he was under a chair.

"You okay?" the new person asked after Walker whacked his head into the bottom of the chair.

"Fine," he replied, then noticed something. The stuck bolt was now loosened half a turn. He had probably loosened it when he had tried to sit up.

He let out a loud chuckle, prompting the other person to ask, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, "I just broke free a stuck bolt."

"Okay?" the other person said, apprehensively. Walker slid his way out and looked up to see who had interrupted him. IT took him a second to recognize the face.

"You're Yorktown, aren't you?" he asked. As the aviation officer for Midway, he had taught aircraft recognition to all of the carriers.

"That's right," she replied.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked. Walker didn't wait for her to reply. He quickly stood up, dusted off his trousers, and grabbed a towel off of the pilot's seat to dab at the grease staining his face.

"I just wanted to get a look at this old bird, and the hatch was open, so…" Yorktown replied, watching closely as Walker scrubbed grease from his face.

"Next time, ask before you come it. For all you know, I could be welding, and you don't want to walk in on that," he said, tossing the now soiled towel back onto the seat.

"Sure thing, commander," she replied.

"Now why exactly are you out here?" he asked, "I'm pretty sure there are other things to do besides poke around an old airplane?"

Yorktown cast an apprehensive glance around the cabin, then said, "I sort of have this thing for airplanes. I watched planes take off and land from my deck for years, and, well, I just always wanted to know what it looked like from inside one of those tiny cockpits."

"Well then, you've come to the right place," Walker said, smiling broadly, "I'm the base's resident propeller head, so if you ever want to know something, come and ask me."

"Propeller head?" Yorktown said, confused.

"Airplane nut," Walker clarified, "I've been flying these radial engine beasts for almost twenty years now."

"I thought everything was a jet now?" Yorktown asked.

"I grew up in Alaska," Walker explained, "Jet engines don't work in that environment. I learned how to fly in Douglas DC-3s and DC-4s." Seeing Yorktown's look of confusion, he added, "R4Ds and R5Ds." Yorktown nodded, accepting the answer. She looked around expectantly, as if she wanted to ask something, but couldn't decide if she could. "You want me to give you a tour?" Walker asked. Yorktown's eyes lit up, and Walker's heart jumped unexpectedly.

"Would I ever," she said, excitedly.

"If you look around you, we are now standing in the aircraft's flight deck. This is where the pilot tells the plane where to go, and where he fixes things when it doesn't go," this elicited a small laugh from Yorktown. Walker stepped through the hatch into the next compartment, "Here is the navigator/radio operator's room. This is where the navigator records how lost the plane is, and then tries to tell someone back home how lost, he is." Walker pointed up to the roof of the compartment, "That's where the flight engineer sits, he makes sure the plane doesn't explode into a ball of fiery death." Walker pointed to the aft bulkhead, "And back there are where the gunners sit, they make sure that the enemy doesn't turn the plane into a ball of fiery death."

Walker stepped out of the hatch mounted in the side of the compartment, then turned to offer a hand to help Yorktown. "So, when is this old warhorse going to fly again?" she asked once her feet were back on the concrete of the hangar floor.

"Not for another week or two," Walker replied, "The Cat is actually in remarkable shape for a plane that has been sitting on its wheels for the last seventy plus years, but it has been sitting on its wheels for the last seventy years. Our main problem right now is that the engines are completely gummed up. Over time, gasoline will turn melt rubber and turn it into jelly, and the engines weren't drained before storage." Walker pointed to where the engines had been lowered onto a pair of service carts. "I'm in the process of stripping them down to clean them out. Luckily, the PBY has the same engine as the R4D, so I know exactly how to do that."

"That can't be the only problem," Yorktown said, "You would have had this thing back in the air if that was all that was wrong with it."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, but you're right, that's not the only problem. Two of the cylinders in the starboard engine are cracked, they'll need to be completely replaced. Which means, unfortunately, machining replacements from scratch. Hydraulics are still good, just need to be pressurized. The landing gear is fine, but the tires need to be replaced, and so far, I haven't been able to source replacements," Walker listed.

He walked up to a section of the fuselage and rapped on it with a knuckle, "And then we come to the real problem, the reason this bird was in for repair in the first place." Upon closer examination, the skin of the plane where Walker had pointed out was crumpled and bent. It looked like a sheet of paper that had been crumpled into a ball and then partially smoothed out. "The plane took a hard water landing, and the force did this to the hull," Walker explained, "We can't trust the structural integrity of this part of the fuselage, so this whole section will have to be removed and replaced, and that means checking the structural members behind this section as well."

"Wouldn't that be an easy job?" Yorktown asked.

"All I would need is a sheet of aircraft aluminum cut and shaped to the right dimensions, but the priority for replacement parts for a seventy year old patrol bomber is pretty low down on the requisition priories," Walker said, "I'm doing good to find enough replacement parts in the scrap pile, "And the fact that we have a CNC mill makes fabricating new parts simple. All I have to do is draw up a computer model for Chief Zimmerman, tell him what material I want the part made out of, and he builds it for me."

"Okay, so when will it be ready to fly?" Yorktown asked.

"All I can say for certain, is soon," Walker replied. He then did something that Yorktown hadn't expected, Walker walked over to the hangar wall and retrieved a pair of metal folding chairs. He set them up underneath the wing of the PBY and said, "Sit, I want to hear more about this interest of yours, and I'll answer any question you have about airplanes, if you answer any question I have about you." Yorktown looked at the two chairs for several seconds, trying to decide whether or not to accept the commander's offer. Finally, she walked over and sat down in one of the chairs. "So, where do we start?" Walker asked, sitting down in the opposite chair.

"Sir…" Yorktown began, only to be stopped by an outstretched hand from Walker

"Yorktown, this is a bull session, right now, I'm not a commander and you're not a petty officer. We're just two people having a discussion over a shared interest," Walker said, "Sabe?"

Yorktown nodded, then asked, "You said you flew R4Ds, what's the deal with that?"

"As I said, I grew up in Alaska. Going from my house to the nearest grocery store required a trip in an airplane. On top of that, my family owns an air transport company with a fleet of about a half dozen R4Ds, R5ds, and R6Ds. They're about the only planes that will operate that far north with little modification. I learned how to fly by right seating with father as we made transport runs," Walker replied, "And I learned how to service them from my Grandfather. He flew Army versions of the plane during WWII." Walker leaned back with a slight smile as he remembered the past. He leaned forward and asked, "Now it's my turn, why are you here? And want the whole truth, you don't just wake up one morning and say, 'I'm interested in airplanes, I think I'm going to go learn more about them today'."

Yorktown giggled at Walker's fake accent, then replied, "It does have something to do with my past. I was the first frontline carrier designed from the keel up as a carrier, and as a result of that, I saw a lot of operation before the war. That was a period of major change in the area of carrier aviation, newer, better planes were coming online, and new technologies were being developed every day. I watched planes take off and land on my deck every day for four years, and over time, I just wanted to know what it felt like to ride in one of those planes."

"Flying is one of the most rewarding things you can ever do," Walker stated, firmly, "So have you already looked around the base at the other aircraft we have lying around?"

"I looked at your whirligigs, commander, if that's what you mean. I still don't know how something like that is able to fly," Yorktown replied, "And I looked at one of the Air Force transports. Those things are huge, but a flying truck is still just a flying truck no matter how big it is."

Walker broke out into hearty laughter, pausing only briefly to say, "That's what I've been telling those guys for years. Them and the damn COD drivers. They base on land, fly once a day out to a carrier, and then only during the day if the weather is clear. They spend twenty minutes on the boat, then fly back, and they get full at sea flight pay…"

"Excuse me, commander," Yorktown interrupted, "What're you talking about?"

"Sorry, didn't mean to rant," Walker said, sheepishly, "Where were you?"

"I was saying that the only real plane on this base right now is that PBY," Yorktown said, "And I would really like to take a ride in her when she's fixed."

"Now that I can arrange," Walker replied, "I can even do you one better. I have to fly a mission tomorrow in a helicopter. We're taking some replacement sensor buoys out to the early warning perimeter around the island. The only crew onboard would be myself, my co-pilot, and the crew chief. I'm sure we could squeeze you in."

"I would like that, commander," Yorktown replied.

Walker leaned back, then slapped a hand down on his leg, "You've answered all of my questions save for this one, you want to go get some lunch?"

"I would like that commander, if you're buying," Yorktown replied, with a sly grin.

Walker shook his head, "Whatever happened to the Navy giving its officers free food." He stood up and offered a hand to help Yorktown up. He remembered to turn off the hangar's arc lamps as he walked out, leaving the PBY sitting in inky blackness as he left.

**Yokosuka Naval District**

Johnston currently found herself feeling somewhat overwhelmed. She still felt this way even after a day and a half in the Japanese base. She had a pretty good idea of what was causing her to be on edge, but she was trying her hardest to not think of that. "The less I think about that battle, the better," she muttered.

Johnston heard someone behind her shout, "Hey, American." She turned to see a destroyer girl walking up the path towards her. It took her a second to recognize the girl as Fubuki.

"Hey, Fubuki," Johnston replied.

"Which one were you again?" Fubuki asked, "All I remember is that you aren't the mean one."

"Johnston," she replied, "If you get confused again, just look at the name tapes on our uniforms, they'll tell you who is wearing said uniform."

"Why are you still wearing that?" Fubuki asked, "It must be hot in that thing."

"It's a discipline thing really," Johnston said, shrugging, "And you get used to the heat, eventually." Johnston looked at the other girl, trying to remember all she could about the destroyer _Fubuki_. Pretty much the only thing that she could dig up was that she was the class leader for one of Japan's largest and most successful types of destroyer. Johnston also remembered that she had gone down during the hectic brawling of Cape Esperance, several months before the destroyer _Johnston _had slid down the slipway.

"You Americans really are big on that whole discipline thing," Fubuki observed.

"Yeah, well, that's just how we operate," Johnston said, "Duty to country before duty to self."

"And every one of your kanmusu has to make that agreement?" Fubuki asked.

"Yeah," Johnston replied, "It's voluntary though. Everyone is given the choice to stay and fight as an enlisted sailor, or to be integrated into the civilian world."

"Has anyone not joined your Navy?" Fubuki asked.

"No, but we figure that answering the call is voluntary, so if a girl comes back, she does it because she's willing to serve once more," Johnston explained.

"We have the same theory," Fubuki said, "No kanmusu has yet refused to serve." Johnston nodded agreement with Fubuki's statement, then looked away.

"Here's hoping that some more of my old comrades decide to make the trip here," Johnston murmured.

Fubuki changed the subject, "Has anyone shown you around the Naval District yet?"

"No, all I've seen are the barracks and the mess," Johnston replied.

"Follow me, and I'll show you our base, and you can tell me what your base is like," Fubuki said, then began walking down the path.

"One thing I can say about our base," Johnston said, "Get used to seeing uniforms, everyone wears them. From the girls themselves, to the regulars."

"Your base is one Midway island, is that right?" Fubuki asked, "Isn't that a small island?"

"Fairly small," Johnston admitted, "Only a few miles square, but there's an airfield and it's enough space for our needs. Plus, it helps that we gave the submarines their own island to live on."

"Really? There was talk a while back about doing the same thing here, but it never went anywhere," Fubuki replied.

"Far as I'm concerned, the farther those sneaky bastards are away from me, the better," Johnston spat, "Those girls consider our own surface ships to be just as much the enemy as the Abyssals. And they won't stop pointing out that they beat our asses at the last exercise."

"Do you do that a lot, exercises?" Fubuki asked.

"More than most, but then again, we don't have the amount of field experience as you girls do. Hell, I'm one of the most experienced American girls now, and I've only really seen one skirmish against them," Johnston remarked, then turned to ask Fubuki, "What was it like for you, back in the early days?"

"It was hard," Fubuki replied, "We knew less about the enemy than you did, everything we did was new. We lost a lot of friends in those days."

"I know that its little consolation, but we're here to stand with you now," Johnston said.

"Yeah," Fubuki breathed, "Enough of that melodramatic stuff, where do you want to go?"

"Some chow wouldn't be unappreciated," Johnston said.

"What?"

"Food, chow means food."

"Oh, well, if you want something really good to eat, Mamiya runs a restaurant in the district, it's pretty good," Fubuki offered.

"Sounds fine," Johnston replied, and followed Fubuki.

**The Pentagon, Washington, D.C.**

It turned out that Admiral Lockhart didn't need to go to the White House after all. A quick call to the President's secretary informed him that he had just missed the man. He had just left for his weekly briefing with the joint chiefs at the Pentagon. Lockhart didn't like sticking his nose into a meeting that he had no real part of, but the pictures he was carrying needed to be in the President's hands as soon as possible. He slowly made his way through the myriad of security checks as he made his way into the inner sanctum of the headquarters of America's military.

Many people do not realize that the Pentagon is not a single pentagonal building, but a series of concentric pentagonal buildings. The pentagons are labeled A through E, with the A ring being the innermost pentagon, and the E ring being the outermost. The E ring is unique in the fact that its windows actually look out on something other than more building. Because of this, the offices of the senior most members of the DoD are located in the E ring. Among these are the offices of the Chief of Staff of the Army, the Chief of Staff of the Air Force, the Chief of Naval Operations, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and the Chief of the National Guard Bureau, the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

The highest ranking officers in the military have separate offices within the Pentagon, but they share a single briefing room. This is where all high important briefs are delivered to the President and members of his staff, the direct connection between America's military and the government. Admiral Lockhart wasn't normally present at these meetings, as the director of ONI, he usually forwarded his intelligence to the CNO, and let the admiral pass it on to the President. But the information he was carrying right now was just too important.

With several question looks from minor functionaries who did not recognize Lockhart as a regular member of this inner sanctum, he walked into the room and began to look for the President. He had just spotted the man, when he heard, "Tommy Lockhart, what are you doing here?" Lockhart turned to see the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Mike Richards. The highest officer in the Navy was a big man, who looked exactly like the linebacker he was during his academy days. On his uniform, above an impressive rack of ribbons, he wore the eagle, trident, and anchor of the Special Warfare insignia. Before he had started his career in the upper echelons of the Navy, Richards had been the commander of DEVGRU, the elite special warfare unit known colloquially as SEAL Team 6.

"Sir," Lockhart began, "I have some photographs that came across my desk last night that need to be in the President's hands ASAP."

"And you didn't think that the Navy should see them first?" Richards accused. Lockhart suddenly wondered if he should have taken his intel to the CNO's desk before he went to the President, but decided that he had made the right decision.

"Sir, with respect, no, this needs to go directly to the President," Lockhart replied.

"Then you'll just have to wait," Richards said, "We're about to start our briefing."

"Sir, I can leave if my presence here will cause problems," Lockhart offered.

Richards sat rubbing his chin in thought for several seconds, before replying, "No, I think that you should hear this brief. Then you can present your intel to the President and the chiefs." Lockhart nodded, then took a seat next to the CNO.

Lockhart managed to just hear the Commandant of the Marine Corps, General Don Purnell, lean over to Admiral Richards and say, "What's the chief Navy spook doing here? The damn CIA is more than enough spook for this room."

"He's here to give some intel to the President. Said it was urgent enough to go all the way to the top. Calm down Don, I'm pretty sure the ONI won't stab us in the back, like the CIA," Richards replied. The Marine general grunted his acceptance, then leaned back.

He didn't get the chance to say anything else, because the call of, "Attention on deck," rang through the room. Everyone in uniform shot to their feet as the President of the United States entered the room.

"Seats please, everyone," the man called as he walked to the head of the table. "I would like to keep this short, so who's starting today."

"It's my turn today, Mr. President," said the Army Chief of staff, General Marc Daniels. Even though the chiefs were the source of all information passed through this room, they didn't deliver the briefings personally. They had juniors do that for them. General Daniels waved to someone standing at the edge of the room, and an officer wearing the eagles of a full colonel in the Army walked in. Lockhart assumed that he was from the Army's G-2 office, their counterpart of the ONI.

The colonel walked to stand in front of the large, projector screen in the center of the room, then said, "Good morning ladies and gentlemen, last night saw activity from all corners of the globe." The intel officer—he was wearing a name badge that read, "Donaldson,"—clicked a remote and the screen displayed a slowly rotating globe. Another click, and the globe rotated to show a close up of the European continent. "Last night saw little activity from Europe," Donaldson explained, "We believe that the series of border wars between the respective countries after the start of the Abyssal war have started to taper off. The few countries that we are still able to contact have confirmed as much."

"What about the Brits?" the President asked, "How are they doing?"

"Sir, the main problem that the British were facing was the blockade of their intercostal trade ad fishing industry. As is well known, the British are an island nation who relies on import and fishing for a majority of their food supplies. With the success of their fleet auxiliary program, these pressures have been relieved. And with the help of the German program, we have started to send convoys full of food and manufactured goods across the Atlantic," Donaldson explained. He clicked his remote once more, and the globe changed to a picture of the Chesapeake Bay. A picture of a gaggle of merchant ships appeared overlaid over the map. "A new convoy of merchantmen made port in Norfolk last night. Sealift Command is currently in the process of drawing up manifests for their cargos."

"This all seems rather routine," the President interjected, "You mentioned something of interest last night?"

"Sir," Donaldson began, "Last night we received definitive proof that the Russians are about to invade mainland China." The picture changed once more, to that of the Russian border with China.

"What, again?" said General Purnell.

"Colonel, I thought that the Russians were in the middle of another communist uprising?" asked the Air Force Chief of Staff, a General by the name of O'Neill.

"Sir, we don't know what the current internal situation in Russia is, for all we know it could have been reformed into the Soviet Union, but we do know that there is a massive buildup of Russian armor and mechanized forces on the Chinese border. Indicating that they are attempting to invade once more." An overlay popped up on the screen of a thermal picture. It took Lockhart a second to make out the outlines of dozens of tanks.

"Any idea as to why the Russians are trying to invade China again?" the President asked.

"Mr. President, I believe that I may be able to answer that one," said a man at the other end of the table, who was wearing a plain business suit. Lockhart guessed, correctly he was to learn later, that this was the CIA's representative in this room. "As you are well aware, the Chinese have very little in the way of domestic oil reserves, and with the Abyssal blockade in full swing, they aren't able to get enough oil to fuel their military."

"So this is another fight over natural resources?" the President asked.

"Quite probably, sir. We lost contact with most of our assets in Moscow when the war started," the CIA man admitted, "This is either due to the general breakdown of communication that followed the start of the war, or there is some situation going on over there that we don't know about."

"So we have, for once, a stable Europe, a British convoy, and Russia is about to start the second Sino-Russo war. Is there anything else I need to know about?" This was the opening that Lockhart had been waiting for.

"Mr. President," he said, standing up, "I have something that I think you should see."

"Richards, what's your head spook doing here," asked O'Neill.

"Delivering the intelligence he's about to deliver," Richards replied, "Now, shut up and let the man talk. I'll vouch for anything he has to say, Mr. President."

"Very well, go on admiral…" the President trailed off, trying to remember the name of the head of the ONI.

"Lockhart, sir." Lockhart walked to the back of the room and handed a laptop to the sergeant operating the projector. A few seconds later the slide show that he had quickly put together was displayed on the main screen. "Mr. President," he began, "I'm sure you're aware that due to the nature of our enemies, we are unable to get reliable satellite intelligence about their operations. Every time one of our birds flies overhead, the enemy is obscured by a thick, black cloud. Except this last time." Lockhart pressed a button, and the screen changed.

It displayed a picture of a small island, probably not even a mile across, with dozens black shapes on and around it.

"My God," Admiral Richards breathed, "Is that what I think it is."

"We believe," Lockhart continued without missing a beat, "That this is an Abyssal stronghold. One of the bases from which they have been staging their attacks against our shipping."

"Where is this base?" the President asked.

"The South Pacific, near our shipping route to Australia," Lockhart said, "As far as we can tell, the island that appears in the photograph, doesn't exist on any of our charts."

"Can we give this information to the Japanese, let them deal with it?" the President asked.

"Sir, I believe that this is outside of the Japanese's proclaimed area protection. It would fall between our claimed waters and the Australians," Richards added.

"So, how far along is our fleet auxiliary program, and can they be sent in to deal with this," the President asked.

"Sir, I believe that I can answer those questions," Lockhart replied. He walked back to talk to the sergeant running the slideshow for a second, then walked back up to the projector screen. "Currently we have two teams deployed at the moment. One comprised entirely of submarines, has made the run from Midway to Australia to both demonstrate that we can do it, and to send the help that the Brits have been clamoring for. The second team comprises of a mix of surface types centered around the guided missile destroyer _Halsey_. They successfully made the transit to Japan last night."

"Isn't that a bit dangerous?" asked Daniels, "As far as we know these girls remember everything that happened to them before. So, from their perspective, the Japanese are still the bad guys."

Admiral Richards fielded this one before Lockhart could answer, "General, the Japanese field one of the most powerful forces in the region, we would have to deal with this issue eventually, and it was better to deal with it on our own terms. I approved the mission, General."

"So what is the state of our reserves of fleet personnel, can we go after this base ourselves?" the President asked, changing the subject.

"Sir, currently we have a sizeable force of fleet personnel of all types, it's just that they lack experience. Throwing them into a mission like this at their current level, would be reckless."

"So, we either pass this on to the Japanese, or we try to send in green troops to deal with it ourselves," General Daniels spat, "Goddamm, why is this war so screwy."

"Can we get word to the man running the program," the President said, he snapped his fingers, what was his name again?"

"Smith, sir," Richards replied, "Captain Smith, he used to be in surface until his task group was hit."

"Oh yes, he's the one who fought them off for three hours with no help. Surprised he didn't get an award for that," the President commented.

"I'm working on that, sir," Richards said, "I'll talk to you later about the particulars."

"Back to what I was saying, can we get word to Captain Smith, tell him to start preparing for this mission. Then go after it sometime down the road? Maybe make it a joint exercise between us, the Japanese and the Brits?"

"I would have to talk to my counterparts in the respective Navies," Richards replied, "But yes. Yes, sir, it's doable. Though we do have a big press op laid up for the coming weeks. The plan is to reveal the fleet auxiliary program to the general public."

"That's right, I saw that," the President admitted, he scratched his chin idly, "I might need to talk to my public relations team about that."

"Sir, if there's no more intelligence, I move that we adjourn for the day," suggested General O'Neill.

"I agree, general. No sense wasting all of your time," the President replied, "Admiral Richards, Admiral Lockhart, I want to see you for a minute." The atmosphere in the room changed as the occupants began to file out, leaving only the President, the CNO, and the Director of ONI. "Gentlemen," the President began once they were alone, "I want a complete brief on our Fleet Auxiliary program, and I don't mean the technical nitty gritty, I want to know what's really happening on Midway Island."

"Sir, I believe that I could help you there," Lockhart said, then began to pass on every scrap of information he had ever received from Admiral Davies.

**Royal Navy Pacific Shipgirl Corps, Sydney, Australia**

Somehow Wahoo knew that this building was a brig, even though she had never seen a brig before. Perhaps it was the guard wearing an SP brassard standing next to the door, or maybe it was the iron bars across each window. Whatever it was, this was the Royal Navy's ship girl brig was located, and where two of her girls were being held. Wahoo exchanged salutes with the guard, who was, surprisingly, a regular. There weren't many regular Royal Navy, or Royal Australian Navy, personnel on this base. She had gathered that it had something to do with how the Brits operated their ship girl program, but she wasn't sure about that yet.

Wahoo was greeted inside the building by that big, blonde cruiser who seemed to run things around here. Exeter Wahoo remembered suddenly. She spoke first, "So, you're, Wahoo?"

"That's right," Wahoo replied, "What's the deal with all this?"

"As one of our operating standards, we keep all rule violations between ship girls. Is that not how you do things?"

"No, we're bound by the UCMJ just like anyone else in the USN. If we break a rule, we go before captain's mast, and, if someone really screwed up, court martial," Wahoo replied.

"Just another reason why I am not a member of your navy," Exeter remarked.

"So how do we treat this?"

"Because they committed their crimes on our base, and while on liaison orders, they fall under our rules. So their punishment is up to you as their commander," Exeter replied.

"Rodger," Wahoo said, "Take me to the miscreants, and I'll set this strait."

"Follow me if you would," Exeter walked down a corridor, and past a row of holding cells until she reached the last one in the row. Wahoo could see that inside it Harder was leaning against the wall, and Sealion was lying on the rack.

Harder saw Wahoo and ran up to the bars of the cell, "Skipper, I knew you would come to spring us from this Limey jail."

"Ahem," Exeter cleared her throat, loudly, then said, "Well, this limey will leave you to sort this out, Wahoo."

Wahoo waited until she was out of earshot, took a deep breath and began, "Do you schlockmiesters have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

"But skipper," Harder tried to say.

"Shut the hell up," Wahoo cut her off, "Let's just see what you did wrong. Leaving the base without permission, that's AWOL, court martiable under article 86. You were caught drunk while still on duty, article 112. You refused the direct order of a shore patrolman, article 91, and you started a fight with the SP after he tried to arrest you, articles 95 and 91 again. Do you know what would have happened to you if you had done all this on an American base?"

"We would have been put up before a general court martial," Sealion said, still lying on the bed, "We screwed up skipper, big time."

"Oh yes you did," Wahoo replied, "The result of said court marital would have probably been immediate separation from the Naval Service, dishonorably discharged without back pay or benefits. Would you be able to survive out in today's civilian world without the Navy's help? I know I couldn't." Wahoo paused for a beat, before adding, "Well, that's not entirely true, as a ship girl, you aren't subject to separation by court martial. If you are sent before a court martial, and convicted, you will be stripped of all rank and status, forfeit all back pay, and be sent to the Recruit Training Command Great Lakes to attend recruit training as a regular. Upon completion of which, you will spend a time of no less than three years as an enlisted sailor."

"So, if we screw up…" Harder trailed off.

"You stop being a ship girl," Wahoo replied. Harder and Sealion both went silent at the revelation of the consequences of their actions.

"But," Wahoo said, "You didn't do it on an American base. The British have different rules, and they say that ship girls aren't punishable under courts martial. So your punishment is up to me." The relief was evident on the two submarine's faces. It didn't last long, "As of now, you are both busted back to seaman apprentice, and you're giving up the next two month's pay."

"Skipper…" Harder protested.

"You want to make it three?" Wahoo asked.

"No, ma'am," Sealion replied.

"Now, you two have been released to my custody, so you're free to return to the transient barracks, but if you so much as think about stepping out of line again, I'll throw your asses back in here without a second thought."

"Aye, ma'am," Harder said, begrudgingly. Wahoo walked back down the corridor to find someone to turn her subs loose. She didn't like having to be a hard-ass, but part of a commander's job is to punish their subordinates for stepping out of line.

She ran into Exeter standing just outside the room, "Would your Navy really send a ship girl to boot camp?"

"Yes, we would," Wahoo replied, "We take discipline seriously, and if that means losing an asset to keep said disciple, so be it."

"Now can you turn those jokers loose for me? I need to go find a stiff cup of coffee," Wahoo asked, then walked out of the building.

**Naval Base San Diego, San Diego, California**

"I don't have enough dock space for her," the harbor master said, again.

"This is important," said the Navy liaison officer, a captain who had held a command of his own until recently, "We need her ready to sail as soon as possible."

"There is one dry-dock big enough to take a ship like that, and it is currently filled by a VLCC that lost a screw in the last attack," the harbor master said.

"But what can a tanker do for the war effort? Even if we could get it to a source of crude, it couldn't haul it anywhere without being attacked," the officer protested.

"And you're telling me that dinosaur," he pointed to the silhouette looming just behind the navy man, "Could actually be used for the war, how?"

"Missiles don't work that well, so it's time to try guns again, and she was just sitting up in Los Angeles gathering dust. No sense letting her just rot away," the officer explained, "All she needs is a hull check and new coat of anti-fouling paint."

"So you risked the trip south here for what?"

"You said yourself, the only dry-docks on the West Coast capable of taking her are here and up in Bremerton, and there's no way we could sneak something like her up to Washington." The harbor master thought about his options for several seconds. Like most Navy yards, the dry docks in San Diego were actually operated by a civilian company, General Dynamics to be specific. The VLCC tanker in the dock would provide a nice paycheck if it could be fixed on time, but the navy man was right, she could do nothing for the war effort. If the tanker was moved to provide space for this new ship, the dock would lose a significant amount of money, and it might take years for the Navy to get around to paying for this job.

The harbor master finally decided that maybe if giving up on the tanker to fix this new ship, and if she could help end the war sooner, then maybe it would pay off in the long run. Plus, he figured that the owners of the tanker would understand if it took a few extra weeks for their ship to be fixed.

"Fine," he said, "I'll do it. Just give my people twenty-four hours to make the dock ready."

"That's all I can ask," the officer said, "I'll tell you if there's anything else." The harbor master only nodded, then went off to arrange the transfer of ships into the dock. On cue, twelve hours later, the tanker was dragged out of the dock by a pair of powerful harbor tugs. Two hours later the Navy ship was shoved in the by the same tugs. She was a unique sight against the cluster of destroyers and frigates around her, a type of ship that hadn't been seen at this base for many years. Her 9 sixteen inch cannons being long considered to be obsolete against today's technology. The harbor master watched from his office window as the great, gray ship was tied off to the dock. He watched with interest as a line snaked across the ship's bow, blocking the number that was painted there. But he knew that under that hawser, the number, "61," was painted in white block text.

**Author's Note**: Lot of buildup in this chapter. I'm working to set up a bunch of things down the road, so be prepared for that.


	15. Chapter 14

**NS Midway Island, July, 1, 2018**

Enterprise had hoped that this would never happen to her. It was the one thing the captain had entrusted her with, and she had broken it. Even though it had been a simple accident, Enterprise still felt torn up about it. This was her last chance, the only person on the base who could fix it without the captain learning about it. "Can you fix it?" she asked, sliding her M1903 across the worktable to Chief Zimmerman. The chief picked up the rifle and turned it over in his hands, examining the long crack that ran through the stock.

"Let me take this into the other room to get a better look," he said after a minute. Enterprise watched with hesitant anticipation as the chief disappeared into the adjoining workroom with the damaged rifle. It had been an accident that had broken the stock of her rifle. During today's wargames, William D. Porter had tripped and slammed into Enterprise. It was simple back luck that the destroyer had caught Enterprise while she was in the middle of launching planes, and had her weapon unslung. Enterprise was thrown forward, and the rifle was sent flying. It was good luck that the weapon landed on the dock rather than in the water. The crack was the result of that impact.

"So, how bad is it, chief?" Enterprise asked after a few minutes.

"How bad is what, lieutenant?" asked the one person that Enterprise had hoped not to run into, Captain Smith.

She turned to see him step into the workshop right as Zimmerman said, "Just something the lieutenant asked me to fix, sir." Enterprise breathed a silent sigh of relief at the chief's discretion.

"Skip it," Smith said, "Chief Zimmerman, can you please explain to me why one of your planes buzzed my helo this morning?" Enterprise had noticed one of the base helicopters circling this morning's exercise, but she hadn't known who was aboard it.

A look of understanding passed over Zimmerman's face, "Sir, I think I know exactly what has happened here. As a part of the exercise we were testing some new aircraft, and if it was who I think it was, I know exactly what happened."

"Chief, you're not making a lot of sense here," Smith said.

"Sir, I think it would be best if I showed you. Follow me," Zimmerman walked over to an adjoining room and pushed open the door. Enterprise jumped up and followed Smith over to the now open door. "This is our aircraft workshop," Zimmerman explained, "We work on new planes for the carriers in here." Enterprise leaned over Smith's shoulder to see that the majority of the room was taken up by several long tables. Each of these held a small airplane.

"What the hell is that?" Smith exclaimed. Enterprise looked again to see that attending each of the aircraft was a group of fairies.

"You don't know about the fairies?" Zimmerman asked.

"Fairies? Chief, I'm starting to become more and more confused, fix that."

"Well, sir, fairy is the term the Japanese came up with, and it just suits them, so we didn't try to change it," Zimmerman explained. Seeing the look of utter confusion on his CO's face, he continued, "The fairies are the girl's crews. They man the weapons, operate the sensors…"

"And fly the planes," Enterprise added, causing Smith to turn and look at her for a second.

"And fly the planes," Zimmerman acknowledged, "They also build and maintain them." He walked down the row of tables until he reached a specific airplane. "Is this the culprit from this morning, sir?" Smith walked into the room, and looked at the plane. It was a Chance-Vought F4U Corsair, its gull wings were unfolded and its fuselage glistened in the dark blue livery of the Navy. What was interesting about this particular aircraft was the title, "MARINES," painted across the fuselage in white, block text.

"I believe that it is," Smith replied.

"The Corsair is one of our current projects," Zimmerman explained, "Most of the carriers came back with their early-war loadouts, which means no Corsairs. We're having to build them from scratch, and this is the current example."

"Why the Marine livery?" Smith asked.

"Sir, most of my test pilots are Marines, and they like to paint the airplanes in the 'team colors,' so to say."

"Marine pilots?" Smith asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"We really don't know what the fairies are, sir. The current consensus is that they are a girl's former crew, coming back in a different form," Zimmerman explained.

"And part of those crews include Marine aviators?"

"Yes, sir."

Enterprise spoke up, hoping to explain further, "Sir, the Marine pilots are sometimes troublemakers. The carriers prefer to separate them from the Navy flyers in order to minimize, incidents. One way we do that is to send them to Chief Zimmerman so that they can be a part of his test pilot squadron."

"Is that true, chief?" Smith asked.

"Yes, sir. We have more than a dozen pilots working here to test the new birds."

"So who, may I ask, was responsible for buzzing my helo?" Smith asked, returning to reason why he was here.

"That would be the driver of this ship," Zimmerman explained. He reached down and rapped on the Corsair's airframe. A second later, its canopy slid back, and a fairy wearing a flight suit jumped out of the cockpit.

'_There was just something about this flyer that screamed, Marine,_' Enterprise thought.

He leaped down to the table, and shot a scathing look up at Zimmerman. "Pappy," Zimmerman addressed him, "You were out this morning. Did you fly close to a helicopter? One of the things with the big rotor?" The fairy gave Zimmerman a hurt look, then looked down at the deck.

He then looked back up at Zimmerman, and gave a barely audible, "Yessir."

"There you go, sir," Zimmerman turned back to Smith, "There's your culprit. He's a major by the way, one of the higher ups in the squadron."

"Pappy, does that mean…" Smith trailed off.

"Far as we can tell," Zimmerman replied, "Sometimes, they sneak back with girls who they never served with, and usually end up here. Also, it's usually the famous ones who do it." Smith shook his head slightly, then leaned down to look at the fairy.

"Do you know who I am, Marine," he said in his best, "Don't give me any shit, sailor," voice.

The fairy nodded, and said, "Yessir."

"Do you know why it's a bad idea to fly that close to aircraft with which you are not in radio contact?"

"Yessir."

"Do I have to explain to you why you will never pull a stunt like that one again?"

"Nosir."

"Chief, I want you to pull him off the flight list for one week, then he can go back to testing you toys," Smith said, standing up.

"Aye sir," Zimmerman replied.

Smith turned to look at Enterprise and asked, "Now, what was it that you were getting fixed?" Enterprise's heart fell, she had thought she wouldn't have to bring this up with the captain.

"It's nothing, sir," Zimmerman tried to deflect.

"That is for me to decide, chief," Smith retorted.

"Sir, it was an accident, I didn't mean to do it," Enterprise said.

"So what, lieutenant?" Smith asked, it was clear by his tone that his patience was drawing short.

"Captain," Zimmerman said, his tone falling, "It's in here. Take a look at it before you pass judgement."

"Very well, lead on." Zimmerman walked back out into the main workshop, and ducked into his workroom. A second later he came out holding the broken rifle. Enterprise looked up briefly to see a look of recognition flash over Smith's face. She mentally steeled herself for what was about to come.

"So, how did you break it?" Smith asked. The calmness of his tone shocked Enterprise thoroughly.

"I was during the exercise, Enterprise said with a sigh, "One of the destroyers tripped and made me drop it." Smith turned the rifle over in his hands for several seconds, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Chief?" he asked after a few seconds, "Can you fix this?"

"It looks to me like just a surface crack, a little glue, and it'll be good as new, sir," Zimmerman replied. Smith passed the Springfield back to Zimmerman, then turned back to look at Enterprise.

"Lieutenant, accidents happen. I knew something like this would happen eventually. Just next time, let me know about it before you try to cover it up, please," Smith said.

"Yes sir," Enterprise said.

"Well, I'll leave you too this then, and chief, keep 'Pappy' and his Marines from breaking anything else, please. Unless they're breaking Abyssals, they can break Abyssals all they want," Smith said, then turned to leave.

"Aye, aye sir," Zimmerman replied. Once Smith had left, he said to Enterprise, "Give me fifteen minutes and I'll have this fixed right up." She breathed a sigh of relief, she had certainly dodged a bullet today.

**The White House, Washington D.C.**

The Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Mike Richards, was having a bad day. A recent survey in total tonnage had displayed a critical shortage. Essentially, the Navy was unable to adequately defend the American coast with the number of ships it currently possessed. The Abyssals had taken their toll on the US Navy. There was currently a frantic rearmament program in place, aimed towards putting every single ship that could still float, fight, and get underway back into service. While this would help, it still didn't fix things in the short term.

Then one of Richards' juniors had come up with a plan, a way to plug a gap that had been created with the loss of the _Carl Vinson_. Unfortunately, said plan would require diplomatic support, as well as military. That was where the President came in. Richards was hoping to clear the idea through him in order to get the allied support they needed to make things work right. After spending about thirty minutes with the secret service guys, it was finally decided that Admiral Richards was really who he claimed to be, and he was allowed inside the Oval Office. It wasn't the admiral's first time in this room, but he couldn't help but feel the power that this room contained.

The President was sitting behind his desk when Richards walked in. He stood up and said, "Admiral, what can I do for the Navy today?"

"Sir, we've discovered a problem," Richards said, "With the loss of the _Carl Vinson_, and the previous losses, we've suffered, the only carrier currently on the west coast, is the _Nimitz_."

"So you're telling me, that we only have one operational carrier in place to defend the entire west coast?" the President asked, "And I'm just hearing about this now?"

"Sir, we were planning on bringing the _Kitty Hawk_ back into commission, but the refit has been delayed due to a lack of parts. It'll be a few months before she comes back into commission. Until then, all we have left is the _Nimitz_."

"So what do you want me to do?" the President asked.

"Mr. President, we currently have three carriers forward deployed. _John C. Stennis _is in Pearl, and the _Theodore Roosevelt _and _Ronald Reagan _are in Japan," Richards explained, "What we want to do, is bring the _Roosevelt _back to the west coast. To do that, we want to use the Fleet Auxiliary personnel we already have in Japan, and we need help from the Japanese."

"So, you want me to convince the Japanese to lend us some of their ship girls, so that we can bring one of our carriers home? Did I hear that right? Why not just use our own girls out of Midway?"

"Sir, while our Fleet Auxiliary program is currently exceeding all expectations, the simple fact remains that very few of our girls, have combat experience," Richards replied.

"And moving a carrier across the Pacific is something where we need all the experience we can get," the President said.

"Correct, sir."

"The current plan is to order the _Roosevelt _to make a hard run strait to Pearl, where it will spend a few days refitting, then send it on to Bremerton."

"Why not just make the run strait to the west coast?"

"Two reasons. First, she needs a refit badly, and we have the spares in Pearl to do that. Second, think of the public morale boost we'll get from pulling a carrier into Pearl, and we still need to do that press conference about the Fleet Auxiliaries, why not do it on the deck of the _Roosevelt_?"

"You know what? I like that plan. We could have Smith fly out from Midway to meet the carrier, and he could conduct his press conference when they pull into Pearl," the President said.

"That was part of the idea, sir," Richards replied.

"Very well, you have my approval, and I'll start the ball rolling with State, get that support you need from the Japanese."

"Thank you Mr. President," Richards said, standing up.

"Oh, and one other thing," the President asked, "Admiral, what is the current progress towards opening the new Fleet girl bases?"

"Sir, I just forwarded the order to Smith this morning. He'll have a list of transferees to me later today," Richards replied, "And I already know who we're going to tap to lead the new bases. The orders have been cut, and will go out later today."

"You're going to put one in Diego, and one in Norfolk if I remember," the President asked.

"That is correct, sir."

"Very well, good luck then."

"Aye aye, sir," Richards said, then turned to leave. That had gone better than he hoped it would. Now he had some orders to cut, and some phone calls to make.

**Yokosuka Naval District**

Dakota had to admit that this little exchange mission had been going rather well. Her girls hadn't caused any major incidents, and the intel she had gleaned about the Abyssals had been invaluable. She was in the mess hall having a conversation with Nagato. The other battleship had been her main sources of information, and the pair had had many conversations over the last few days. "As far as we can tell," Dakota continued, "After they finished smashing our forces to the point where we couldn't fight them anymore, they just disappeared. There hasn't been a confirmed Abyssal sighting anywhere near the US coast in months."

"They have become overconfident," Nagato noted, "They were like that when we first begun our war as well. Their fight has been too easy, so they back down to the minimum force necessary to defeat your own. Enjoy this while it lasts, for they will soon return with greater numbers once they discover that you are able to combat them."

"That is what we figured," Dakota murmured, "How was it like in the early days for you?"

"All of our knowledge of the Abyssals was circumstantial. We had to learn our enemy's strengths and weakness by trial and error. There were many casualties back in those days. Hopefully your countrymen can use what we have learned to good effect," Nagato said.

"Well we don't seem to be making very good progress on that front. Half the Navy wants to shut the ship girl program down, and the other half wants to shower us with praise even though we haven't done anything yet," Dakota mused.

"There was a similar situation in my country. We were lauded as heroes by some, and a waste of resources by others," Nagato replied.

"How did you deal with it?"

"We ignored it. We fought our war by ourselves, and let the populous draw their own conclusions after the fact," Nagato stated.

"I think we're lucky there," Dakota announced, "The general public doesn't even know we exist, we're top secret," she said with a smirk.

"Then you truly are lucky," Nagato replied, "I find myself fighting two conflicts simultaneously, one against the Abyssals, and one against public opinion. My seniority in the Kanmusu corps does not help this at all."

"Well, good luck with that," Dakota said, raising her glass in mock salute. Their conversation was cut short when Captain Muriname walked up.

"Getting along alright, Dakota?" he asked.

Dakota turned to look at the base commander and said, "Yes sir, no problems as of yet."

"I just received a message that I believe you would want to see," he announced, "You as well, Nagato, this applies to our own forces as well as the Americans." Dakota nodded and followed Muriname to his office.

"Sir, may I ask what this is about?" Dakota asked.

"Your navy wants to tap you for an escort mission, and they want me to lend you a few girls from this base to assist," Muriname said, then handed a message form to Dakota.

"You'll have to excuse me, I'm not familiar with this ship, what is the _Theodore Roosevelt_?" Dakota asked after reading the form.

"It's 4.5 acres of sovereign US territory," Nagato said, then seeing Dakota's look of confusion, she added, "She's one of your Navy's carriers, and is currently docked over in the American section of the bay." Dakota's eyes widened. She had seen pictures of the current class if aircraft carrier in the Navy's arsenal, and was a bit shocked that she was being entrusted to escort one.

"There is a Humvee waiting outside for you, Dakota," Muriname announced, "It will take you to the _Roosevelt_. Her commanding officer wishes to speak with you about plans."

"Yes sir," Dakota replied. She was having trouble processing what Muriname was telling her, she was still in shock about the mission.

"Don't just stand there," Muriname said, "Go, it your tax dollars being wasted."

Dakota shook herself and replied, "Yes sir," then turned to leave. Sure enough, there was a Humvee waiting for her just outside the admin building. She walked to the passenger seat and was greeted by the Marine corporal in the driver's seat.

"You, Lieutenant Dakota?" he asked.

"Hold on ma'am, we'll be on the base in a few minutes," the Marine announced. Dakota was too busy staring out the Humvee's window to reply. They had to pass through the city of Yokosuka to reach the American base, and Dakota was mesmerized by the number of people she saw walking around.

Then she saw the carrier. They had just passed through the main gate when she saw it. The giant gray silhouette towered above its neighbors. She was amazed by the size of it, it was at least as large as an _Iowa_ class battleship, probably bigger. The Humvee pulled up to the waiting gangway, then stopped. "This is the end of the road for me, ma'am," her driver announced, "They'll be someone else to lead you around up there."

"Thank you, corporal," Dakota said as she got out.

"Anytime, ma'am," he replied, doffing his cover in salute. Dakota stared up the gangway for several seconds, before she began to make her way up. Once at the top, she stopped to perform the requisite custom of saluting the ensign and the OOD.

Her salute was returned and the OOD asked, "Are you, Lieutenant Dakota?"

"That's right."

"If you would please follow me, ma'am, the captain's waiting for you in his cabin." Dakota nodded then followed the officer through the bowels of the ship. The path to the captain's cabin took them through the hangar deck. Dakota found herself staring up at one of the jets. Even with its wings stowed and covers over in air intakes, it looked dangerous, almost predatory. She didn't realize that she was staring, until the OOD grabbed her shoulder and said, "Come on, ma'am, the captain's waiting."

"Yes, thank you," she muttered then began to walk again. It only took them a few more minutes to reach the door of the captain's in port cabin.

The OOD knocked on the door, and someone on the other side said, "Come in." The door was opened, and Dakota walked in.

She stopped in front of the captain and said, "Lieutenant South Dakota reporting to the commanding officer as ordered, sir."

"So you really are the _South Dakota_, are you?" he said, shocking Dakota. "At ease, please." She looked down to see that the captain was a middle aged man, with a bald head, and a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. "They told me you were coming out, but frankly I didn't believe it. Even if the message came from the CNO's office," he announced.

"Sir, I can't help who I am," Dakota replied, earning a laugh from the man.

"No, I guess you can't," he replied, "I'm Captain Rider by the way, CO of this boat."

"You already know who I am, sir," Dakota said.

"That I do, that I do," he said, "Please sit, would you like some coffee? Something like that? We're waiting on the battlegroup commander, and, I hate to admit this, he's always a bit late."

"Coffee would be fine, sir," Dakota replied.

"So we have a kanmusu program, just like the Japanese," Rider commented as he stood up to fix the coffee, "Who would have thought."

"Only for a few months," Dakota replied, "We're still brand new."

"Do you know the details of this mission?" Rider asked, he then placed a steaming mug down in front of Dakota, "Here you go."

Dakota nodded her thanks and replied, "That my girls are going to escort your ship back to Pearl."

"Well, we are going all the way back to Bremerton, but you'll only ride us to Pearl," Rider added, "But, yes, that's right. You'll probably have more backup on this mission than anything else you've seen. My jets and my battlegroup will be there to help, but there will probably be a lot more Abyssals trying to stop us. Carriers are their favorite target, and they throw everything they have in their path."

"Sir, may I ask a question?" Dakota asked.

"Go ahead."

"Why am I being trusted with this? Not to put myself down at all, but my girls are still inexperienced, why are we escorting a carrier?"

"The Navy needs this boat back stateside," Rider said, "The CNO seems to think that you can handle this, and I'm not one to disagree with my boss."

"I didn't even know the CNO knew I existed," Dakota muttered.

"You won't be alone, the Japanese are sending a division of their girls along for the ride, and they are quite adept at fighting Abyssals. I've seen them at work," Rider commented, "And my Hornet drivers are no slouches either, they've been assisting the Japanese for months now. Even if our missiles down work, those Abyssals still don't like being hit by 20mm cannons." A knock on the door silenced Rider. "That must be the admiral," he said, "Time to get down to business." Dakota spent the next hour discussing strategy with the captain and the commanding admiral. After they were done, she still didn't feel ready for this.

**NS Midway Island**

Smith didn't like FLASH traffic messaged. Whenever he got a FLASH message, it was bad news, this one especially. The news about the stunt with the carrier was bad enough, but now he had to make up transfer lists. He sighed, he'd have to transfer whole divisions, doing anything else would cause a riot among his ranks. He stood up and retrieved a drink from his fridge. He was tempted to reach for a beer, but decided that a soda was a better idea. He leaned back in his chair, and sighed loudly. "I know that face, that's the 'Woe is me everything is going horribly' face," Smith was a bit surprised to see his wife standing in the door.

"I think it's justified," Smith groaned, "Read this." He slid the message form across the desk. Sarah picked it up and flipped through it.

She let out a low whistle, "Is this for real?"

"Afraid so," Smith said, slowly pinching the bridge of his nose, "I checked the identification code group twice, it checks out. Apparently that message came directly from the office of the CNO."

"So, they're going to try to escort a carrier clear across the Pacific," Sarah said in shocked disbelief.

"That's not the part I'm worried about," Smith said, "It's the fact that they're using my girls to do it."

"Those girls are well trained, they're ready for this," Sarah reassured.

"If that was all of it. On top of that, I have to draw up a list of girls who can be transferred to other bases. That's going to wreck morale," Smith sighed, "And, this is the best part, I don't have a clear idea of who we can transfer. I want to keep the girls in their divisions, but they've come back so piecemeal that there aren't enough whole divisions to transfer."

"So, do what any boat skipper would do in a situation like this, get the opinion of the crew, or maybe your XO," Sarah suggested.

"That might be a good place to start," Smith said, then he leaned back in his chair and shouted, "Lieutenant, could you come in here please?"

A minute later Enterprise stuck her head into Smith's office and said, "You need me for something, sir?"

"Come in lieutenant, come in. We were discussing a new set of orders, and I would like your opinion," Smith said, waving Enterprise in.

"Sir, I don't think that I could…." Enterprise began to protest

"Lieutenant, get in here already," Smith cut her off.

"Aye sir," she said, then walked into the office. "What is it you need me for?"

"I just got a message from headquarters. Apparently there are two new ship girl bases forming back stateside. I've been tasked with transferring the first girls to these new commands, and I need your suggestions about who I could put on that list."

"I think I can help with that, sir," she said after a minute's thought, "Who exactly did you have in mind?"

"Mainly, we need girls who saw service in the Atlantic," Smith said.

"Off the top of my head, Nevada would make a great choice. She's a great tactician and a good leader. For carriers? Ranger and Bogue, they both operated exclusively in the Atlantic, and saw good service. You'll have to look into cruisers and destroyers, I'm afraid I'm not too experienced with their war records."

"Thank you Enterprise," Smith said, "I'll ask you again about this, go ask around the barracks, find me a list of girls who could fill this list, and I'll look into the records on my end."

"Is that all sir?" she asked.

"It is, dismissed." Enterprise did a crisp about face, and left Smith's office.

"That was a mean thing to do," Sarah said after she had left, "Ask her to spy on the other girls."

"I never told her to spy on anyone, I told her to figure out who could be transferred."

"Without telling the girls she was looking for people to transfer?" Sarah pointed out.

"Captain's prerogative," Smith shrugged.

Sarah reached down and swatted Smith on the shoulder, "Well, captain, I some messages to send, I'll see you at home." Smith nodded his agreement, and watched as his wife walked out of his office. When she was gone, he leaned back in his chair, and looked out of his window. He just caught a glimpse of the Seahawk flying past.

"Walker's out early," he mused, then went to dig out record jackets.

[][][][][][][][][][][]

"Well, what do you think?" Commander Charles Walker said over his headset.

"This is awesome," came the excited reply of his passenger. Walker looked over his shoulder to see Yorktown sitting in the right seat, a huge grin plastered over her face.

"You think this is good," Walker said, "Just wait till I get you up in a Hornet. Nothing else like it."

"I'm holding you to that," Yorktown announced, "You will be taking me up in a fighter."

Walker laughed, "I wouldn't dream of breaking my promises." Yorktown nodded, then went back to staring out the cockpit window. "So, this is your first time up here?" Walker asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Not many chances to go flying out on this post," she replied, "It was wither your whirligigs or bum a ride with the chair force, and the cap'n would probably have a conniption if I tried that."

"Probably right, probably right, but a helo flight is still better than nothing." Walker gave her a few more minutes before announcing, "That's enough sightseeing for now, we came out here to do a job, let's get it done."

"But sir, can it wait for five more minutes," Yorktown pleaded.

"No it cannot," Walker said, then, seeing Yorktown's expression, added, "It'll only take us thirty minutes to do, and then we can use the rest of our allotted fuel to circle the base."

"That'll be fine," Yorktown replied.

Walker nodded, then said into the intercom, "Chief, you ready back there?"

A second later the helicopter's crew chief, a grizzled, old Chief Aircrewman replied, "Sir, we're all ready to go back here, just give the word." Walker acknowledged the message, then looked down at his kneeboard. There was a map of the island tacked to its first page, with several points circled in red. These were where he was going to drop a series of sensor buoys that, in theory, could detect Abyssals at range. Walker looked at the GPS screen mounted in the center of his flight console.

"Ready," Walker called as he approached the first spot, "Drop, now now now."

"Buoy away," came the reply a second later after the chief had sent the sensor buoy plummeting down to the water. Since this was not the ASW version of the Seahawk, he had simply thrown the thing out the open door. Walker waited a few minutes for it to deploy, then circled back to check that it had deployed. The bright, orange float on the surface confirmed this.

"People really do this for a living?" Yorktown asked a second later.

"Hell, the ASW guys would spend hours up here dropping buoys trying to find submarines. The P-3 drivers had it worse, they could spend days on station," Walker commented.

"So how many more of those do we have to do," Yorktown asked.

"Will you calm down already?" Walker asked, then said, "Two, we have two more buoys to drop, then we can go sightseeing."

"That's fine," Yorktown said, then settled back in her seat for the next few minutes. The remaining two buoys were deployed with no problems, and thirty minutes later Walker had completed his mission. He turned back towards the base, and made a low altitude pass over the airfield.

"Hey," he said, breaking Yorktown from her gazing, "You wanna take it?"

"Really?" she said, hesitantly, almost as if she couldn't believe what she was being asked.

"Yes, really," Walker quipped back, "We all learn to fly somewhere, and you might as well start now. Just put your hands on the cyclic for now, I'll keep the throttles."

"Cyclic?" Yorktown asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"Right, I forgot, never seen a heli before," Walker said, then explained, "The joystick, between your legs."

"Right," Yorktown replied, taking the stick in her hands.

"Now, this things flies a bit different from regular planes, push forward on the stick to pitch the nose forward, pull back to pitch up. If you want to fly faster, push forward, if you want to slow down, pull back. Now, don't worry, I'll be with you every step of the way," Walker explained.

"Okay," Yorktown said. Walker could tell by her tone that she was steeling herself for what was to come next. He even thought that he detected a few, sharp intakes of breath from her, but she eventually said, "I'm ready."

"You've got it," he said simply, and eased his tension on the cyclic, allowing her to move the stick. He could feel an increase in pressure on his own stick as she began to move it. Hesitantly, at first, but with increasing confidence as she got the feel for it. The helicopter began a slow tilt forward, gaining a bit of speed, then began to ease into a nice, sedate cruise.

Walker was actually a bit impressed at how quickly Yorktown had figured out the controls. "If you want to try something else," he said after a few minutes, "Push the stick left to bank left, and right to go right. Gently now."

"Okay," she replied. She began to ease the helicopter into a gentle turn. Again, Walker was impressed at how fast she was learned all this. Perhaps, it was her previous experiences as a carrier that gave her some sort of insight into this, but whatever it was, he couldn't deny that she had potential. The flashing red light on his instrument panel changed things.

"That's the fuel warn," He said, "Time to go home. I've got it."

"You've got it back," she said, and released her hold on the cyclic. Walker turned around and headed back towards the large helipad that had been painted on the tarmac. Walker set the Seahawk down, and immediately went into his post flight ritual of checks and rechecks. The big rotor stopped turning, and the turbines ground to a halt. Walker jumped out a second later, and began his walk-around. He was a bit surprised when Yorktown grabbed him from behind in a tight embrace.

"Thank you," she said, "That was incredible."

"Come back when we get the Cat flying, I'll give you a check ride in her," Walker said.

"Yes, yes, yes please," she said, then let go of the commander.

"I know what it's like, Yorktown," he chuckled softly, "Once you get bit by the flying bug, you never go back."

"All I know, sir, is that I want to go back up, as soon as possible," she said.

"Go on then, get out of here. All I have left to do is some not fun maintenance reports, go have some fun, I'll deal with this stuff," Walker said. She nodded, then walked away. Walker shook his head wordlessly, now that was one girl who was destined to be a pilot.

[][][[][][][][][

**A/N:**

I know, I know this one took a while to get done, but tests, Navy duties, and general life really screwed with my writing time. Hopefully the next one won't take as long.


	16. Chapter 15

**Yokosuka Naval District, July 4, 2018**

Johnston suspected that something big was happening when Dakota summoned every US ship girl to a briefing room. That notion was cemented when she saw that a good number of the Japanese girls were already in the room. She only recognized a few by name—including Fubuki, and crazy Kongou—the rest were new to her. She could tell by looking at their faces, that they had just as much idea as to the point of this as the Americans. Johnston's questions were answered in short order when Dakota walked up to the front of the room. "Now I know you're all wondering why I asked you here today," she began.

And was immediately interrupted by O'Bannon yelling, "No dip, Sherlock."

Which resulted in Nicholas punching her sister in the shoulder and barking, "Quiet, you."

Dakota stood in silence, waiting for the destroyers to resolve their problems, then continued, "We've been given a mission, one of the highest priority. One of the aircraft carriers currently in Yokosuka, the _Theodore Roosevelt_, has been recalled back to Pearl Harbor, and we've been assigned as her escorts." There was complete silence in the room as the girls were stunned speechless. Dakota continued, "We've asked for help from the Japanese for this one, and they've agreed to give it to us."

"What does that mean?" Hornet asked from the back of the room.

One of the Japanese girls—Nagato Johnston remembered—stood up and said, "It means, a detachment of our kanmusu will be assigned to work with you. The kanmusu in this room are the ones assigned to the mission."

"Apparently the White House felt that we could use their assistance," Dakota added.

"More like they didn't think we were good enough to guard their precious carrier, so they leaned on the Japanese to lend us a few of their girls. They being O, so much better than we are," O'Bannon growled.

"You just don't stop, do you?" Nick asked, shooting O'Bannon a scathing glare.

"That's two comebacks in five minutes," Atlanta broke in, "Three more and you'll break your record."

"What, we're keeping score now? You must think I'm really something then."

"Three."

"Would you lot, shut the hell up," Salt Lake snapped, "This is important, and I would like to not die because O'Bannon was too busy trying to make funny."

"Sorry," Atlanta replied, looking down at the floor.

"Hey, I can't help being amazing. I just am," O'Bannon said, folding her hands over her chest.

"Five."

"That's it, Salt Lake was right, this is too damn important for your constant jokes. If this carrier doesn't reach Pearl, then the entire west coast will be unguarded," Dakota bellowed, her face red with outrage. The entire room went silent, and it took Dakota a moment to realize what she had just said.

"Your Navy is really spread that much?" asked Kongou, her head cocked.

Dakota replied, her voice heavy with emotion, "There aren't any carriers on the west coast. The last one was sunk some weeks ago. _Roosevelt _is going to be rotated into the area, but she needs to go to Pearl to be refit. So you see how important this is? We're making a move to defend the civilians of America."

The silence remained until Johnston spoke up, "When do we go?"

"In about ten hours," Nagato replied, "The mission begins as soon as the _Roosevelt _battlegroupcompletes its replenishment."

Dakota added, her voice still somewhat ragged, "Besides the girls in this room, we'll have a bit more support than normal. The _TR_'s bringing her destroyers and cruisers, and her captain assures me that their F-18s will be on hand to fly combat sorties."

"The F-18 can't target the Abyssals, should we be putting them in danger like that?" Pensacola asked.

"There's a bit more to that," Dakota replied, "But the _TR_'s skipper will go over that once we board his ship."

Nagato spoke next, "I shall not be joining you for this endeavor. My services are required on this base, and I cannot abandon them."

"So, what now, boss?" asked Hornet, "Say the word and I can be ready to go in half an hour."

"Then consider that word given," Dakota said, "Round up your gear everyone, we'll be heading over to the US side of the base in two hours. Muster outside the headquarters here. There'll be a couple Humvees there to take use over there."

Nagato added, "This also applies for the kanmusu of this district."

Dakota nodded, then said, "Everyone but the squadron leaders are dismissed, good luck everyone." Johnston stood up to leave with the throng of girls. She had barely stepped out of the headquarters, when Radford ran up next to her.

"Hey, Johnston, wait up," she said.

"What is it?"

"How dangerous do you think this'll be? I heard that the Abyssals go after our carriers with everything they have. You've seen impossible odds before, do we have a chance?" Radford asked, her voice nearly breaking. Johnston reached up and put a hand on Radford's shoulder.

"You'll be saying hello to your sister in no time, I promise."

"You really think that?"

"We'll have the combined power of two nations, plus one of the most powerful warships ever put to sea backing us up, do I have to answer that question? Now, do I think it will be hard, absolutely. You're right, the Abyssals are going to throw everything they have at the _TR_, so that means we have to stop them. You heard what Dakota said would be at stake."

Radford let out a smile, "You're right, we'll just have to fight harder, and once we get past this I can see Fletcher again."

"And maybe, by the time we get back, my sisters will be back as well," Johnston said, her voice wistful, "Come on, I've got stuff to pack, and I'm sure you do too." Johnston continued walking to her room, Radford following close behind.

**Sydney Australia**

Wahoo was silently thankful that their time in Australia was coming to an end. The sooner they left here, the sooner her girls would stop causing trouble. She also found herself missing the quarters they had built on Submarine Island. Well, just a few more hours, then they would be off for home. "Miss Wahoo, a word if you would," Wahoo looked up to see the battleship that was running this show, Prince of Wales she remembered.

"What did they do this time?" Wahoo replied, asking the question she knew was about to come.

"Oh, no your girls have been fine. That's not why I'm here. I have someone here who would like to talk to you," Wales said. The battleship stepped to the side, and a man with a thin face and thinning hair walked into the room.

"And you would be?" Wahoo asked.

"Clayton Webb, I'm on the ambassador's staff," the man said, sticking out his hand.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Webb," Wahoo said, taking the man's hand, "What is it that you wanted to see me about?"

Webb turned to look at Wales, "Could you excuse us, miss?"

"Of course," Wales said, then walked out of the room, turning back to add, "Good luck Ms. Wahoo."

Webb waited until the door shut, then said, "I bet you figured I'm not actually from the US Embassy."

"That was rather obvious, OSS?"

"Their successors actually, CIA."

"What does the CIA want with me?" Wahoo asked, intrigued.

"Your help, and the help of your submarines."

"What could you possible need my help with?" Wahoo asked. Webb didn't reply, instead he placed a briefcase on the bed and snapped off the latches. A moment later he pulled out a few photographs and arrayed them out on the bed for Wahoo to see.

"These are shots one of our Keyholes took a few days ago," Webb explained, "As you can see, we spotted an Abyssal base in the South Pacific."

Wahoo held up a hand, stopping Webb in the middle of his explanation, "Keyhole?"

"Spy satellite, think of it as a recon plane that flies a whole lot higher," Webb explained, "What I want your team to do is get a better look at this island. We've never found one of their bases before, and we want to get a better look at it. If we can get an idea about what their bases look like, then we can come up with a plan to combat them."

"So what, you want us to get a better look at this base?"

"Yes," he replied, then hefted a bag onto the bed, "Here, this might help." Wahoo unzipped the bag, and saw that it contained an expensive looking camera in an even more expensive looking housing.

"What is this?"

"Waterproof camera. Use it to take pictures of the Abyssals," Webb said, taking the camera out of the bag. He held it up and explained, "Turn it on here, and press this to take the pictures. One of our couriers will be on the next flight out of Midway. Drop this off with him, and he'll make sure it gets where it needs to go."

"I'll be sure to do that," Wahoo replied, a bit distracted by the camera she was holding.

"Good luck lieutenant," Webb said as he began to walk out of the room. He suddenly snapped his fingers, and walked back in, "I almost forgot this. You might get into some trouble that you can't get out of that close to the Abyssals, so we called in some favors." He reached in his suit pocket and pulled something out, then tossed it to Wahoo. It was a plastic box, about the size of a pack of cards, with a chunky looking antenna sticking off one end, and a few buttons on the face. She turned it over in her hands several times, trying to figure out what it was. Webb gave a few seconds to look at it, then explained, "It's a satellite locater. Flip it on and we can track you anywhere in the world."

"What is that supposed to do for me?"

"If you set off that signal, it'll let some friends of mine home in on you."

"Friends? What kind of friends?"

"Let's just say someone related, and leave it at that," Webb replied, being intentionally cryptic, "Again, good luck." Webb offered his hand again, and Wahoo took it.

"Thank you Mr. Webb, I think I'll need it." Webb nodded slightly, then walked out of the room, quickly disappearing down the corridor. Wahoo turned the locater over in her hands a few more times, then pocketed the device. She grabbed the camera bag off the bed, then went to go find her girls. She had a new mission brief to give, and boy was this one going to be a doozy. Her gut told her that this was going to be a long week. She would learn later just how right she was.

**USS **_**Theodore Roosevelt**_**, Pacific Ocean, July, 7, 2018**

It was rather interesting for Hornet to see how far carrier aviation had progressed. This ship was much larger and more powerful than she had ever been, and, as she had been told, the US had possessed at least a dozen of these super carriers. She had managed to talk one of the plane captains into a tour of his aircraft, in this case, an E/A-18 Growler down for maintenance. She had managed to crawl into the cockpit. "Well, what do you think?" asked the plane captain, a twenty-something petty officer.

"Where are all the dials?" she replied. The only thing on the panel in front of her were glass screens, like computer monitors.

The petty officer chuckled, "Things have changed from back in your day. This whole bird is run by computer." Hornet nodded unconsciously, not really paying attention to the man's words. She had discovered that the joystick was free, and was tenuously shoving it around the cockpit. She was so enthralled by her discovery, that she didn't notice when the plane captain was called away.

"So, what can this baby do?" she asked a second later, without looking up.

"Well, judging by the outside, fly faster than it should, carry more ordinance than it should, and be much louder than it has any right to. Just like any other American plane." Hornet looked out to see Zuikaku standing at the bottom of the access ladder. The Japanese carrier was one of those assigned to the mission.

"That's not true," Hornet shot back, "The Wildcat was an amazing plane."

"Who said anything about the Wildcat?" Zuikaku asked, "And that plane was so heavy it couldn't properly turn fight."

"Yeah, and the Zero would burst into flames if you spit at it. Your point?"

"Just that this aircraft is typical of American design, too many superfluous design features."

"Is there a reason for you to be here? Or are you just here to explain your position on aircraft design?" Hornet asked.

"Your commander called for a meeting, and no one knew where you were."

"So you looked in the hangar deck?" Hornet asked, jumping out of the cockpit, and sliding down to the deck.

"Logical place to look for a carrier kanmusu," Zuikaku admitted, shrugging her shoulders.

"So you admit that you're interested in the airplanes?"

"Yes, I'm interested in them, I think that they could have been designed better, but I am interested."

"You said something about a briefing?" Hornet said, trying to change the subject.

"South Dakota is waiting for everyone in the ready room," Zuikaku said, then raised her arm to point the way.

"It's still a beautiful aircraft, by the way," Hornet said as she left the deck.

"Too large in the middle," Zuikaku commented, earning her a nasty look. Hornet shook her head, and walked deeper into the _Roosevelt_. There were four, and only four, places in this floating city that Hornet knew how to reach, her quarters, the mess deck, the hangar deck, and the squadron ready room that Dakota had co-opted to serve as a briefing room.

Hornet attempted to quietly sneak into the last row of the full room, but was spotted by Dakota, "Nice of you to join us, Hornet."

Hornet froze, and said weakly, "Sorry, ma'am, I was getting a tour of the hangar."

"Taking a peek into a plane I bet," Atlanta quipped, then shut up when Dakota shot her a look.

"Now that our lost carrier has joined us," Dakota began, "Things have been too quiet lately, and the strike group commander is getting jumpy. He wants us to increase the patrol schedule." This statement caused the assembled girls to groan in protest.

"We just got him to back down with the patrol rotation," Nicholas protested, "We can't keep up that 24 hour watch cycle."

"Apparently the admiral in charge seems to think that we can, and has made that an order," Dakota said, holding up her hand to stop the protests before they could begin, "This is above my paygrade now, and I can't stop it. So the new watch bill is going up now. Anything questions before I start the build up?"

"Yeah, I got one," O'Bannon said.

"Oh this is going to be good," Dakota said, a little too loudly, then asked, "Well, are you going to keep us waiting?"

"When are the Abyssals going to attack? I mean really attack, not these cruiser and destroyer divisions they've been throwing at us so far."

"Why don't you ask them?" Pensacola suggested, earning a round of chuckles from the room.

"Now that we are certain that this briefing officially no longer has a purpose," Dakota began, "Dismissed." The assembled girls were just standing up to leave, when the general quarters alarm began to blare.

"Oh, what now?" Johnston asked, voicing the thoughts of everyone in the room.

"Everyone, stay here," Dakota ordered, before running to the nearest 1MC box. After a quick exchange, she ran back to the front of the room, and began, "Well, you jinxed us O'Bannon, Abyssals are here, and in force. Thermal imaging caught no fewer than six battleships, a dozen heavy cruisers, at least two squadrons of DDs, and a pair of carriers." Dakota let that sink in for half a second, before barking, "Let's roll people. Equipment bay, now!"

The room had originally been an auxiliary machine shop. A place to store the backup machine tools for the main shops. It had temporarily handed over to Dakota for her to use for equipping the ship girls. The tools had been shoved against the far bulkhead and secured with tie down straps. Occupying the space where they had been, were racks of storage lockers containing the equipment necessary for the ship girls to wage war. Well, almost all of the equipment. Due to regulation, all ordinance and weapons, had to be stored in one of the _Roosevelt_'s expansive ammo bunkers. The girls had their rigging on quickly, but had to wait several minutes for a team of ordies to wheel their guns and ammo in on a repurposed bomb cart. Girls grabbed their cannons, and began to run.

"Good luck all," Hornet called as girls ran out. She still had to wait a bit longer to wait. The carrier's personal firearm had been stored in the ship's armory with the rest of the small arms, and it, along with Zuikaku's bow, was currently being retrieved by an officer. A man pushed his way through the crowd of equipping ship girls, Hornet's carbine held in one hand, Zuikaku's bow in the other.

"Here, ma'am," he said, tossing the weapon to Hornet. She caught the rifle, and cracked the action open as she had been taught.

A quick check to make sure the chamber was clear, and she called, "Clear." He nodded his concurrence, then handed over her web belt. She could tell by weight alone that it was already filled with her special ammunition.

"Good luck, ma'am," he said, then offered a nod of support.

"We're gonna need it," Hornet said quietly as she slammed a magazine home.

"Stay with me, Hornet. I'll help you," Zuikaku announced as she tested her bow.

"Was planning on it," Hornet looked up, "They're waiting, and we need to go." She slung her rifle, grabbed her flight deck, and ran out of the room.

][][][][][][][][][][][][

**Communications Room, NS Midway Island**

James Smith had been sitting in the communications room for the last hours. He had ordered regular updates about the _Roosevelt'_sprogress some time ago, and the latest news wasn't promising. He had staked himself out in a folding chair behind the commo petty officer's desk, waiting to receive news as it came off the radio. He knew he shouldn't be setting this sort of example for the girls, but he just couldn't tear himself away. He must have dozed off at some point, because he found himself being shaken awake. "I haven't seen you like this in years, James, not since the war began." Smith looked up to see his wife holding his shoulder. "Your dedication to your friends is one of the reasons I fell in love with you, did you know that?"

"They're out there somewhere, fighting for their lives, and I'm here. In an air conditioned room, that couldn't be farther from battle," Smith said, shaking the remaining vestiges of sleep from his body.

"They'll be fine, you trained them well," Sarah reassured.

"It's just…" Smith began, then took a breath and tried again, "I should be out there with them. I should be on the conn of one of those ships. I'm a SWO, not whatever the hell I've turned into. My place is on the bridge of a ship, not behind a desk."

"Chester Nimitz spent the entire war behind a desk," Smith looked over to see Enterprise standing behind his wife, "Bill Halsey might have spent the war with Third Fleet, but he did so from a command room, far from the action. Sir, you've done an amazing job, and you need to trust them to do their job."

"Thanks, Enterprise, I needed that," Smith said, still not fully believing his XO's words.

"What's the word?" Sarah asked, changing the subject.

"Still nothing. We heard they were engaging the Abyssals, but that was thirty minutes ago, and the current silence has not been promising."

"We'll hear soon, sir. Dakota would never let anything happen to that carrier," Enterprise reassured, earning her a slight nod from Smith.

"Sir," interrupted the radioman, "We're getting something."

"Thank you," Smith said, then bounded over to the computer monitor that was displaying the dispatch.

[][[][][][][][][]

**USS **_**Theodore Roosevelt**_

Things were beginning to degrade, rapidly. An early suicide rush by a squadron of Abyssal destroyers had broken through the ship girl's tenuous defensive line, and had just barely been stopped from launching their torpedoes by the quick thinking of a _Ticonderoga _class cruiser. Before they could even catch their breath from the first attack, a thrust a group of heavy cruisers and battleships had attempted to push through on the other side of the task group. Salt Lake's group had been forced to take the brunt of that assault, and had managed to turn it back at the last moment, with a cost.

Pensacola had taken the full brunt of a battleship salvo, and was forced to retreat in order to receive medical attention. Atlanta had lost two of her turrets to a cruiser salvo, and one of Northampton's turbines had been disabled. Now Salt Lake was forced to hold the line with an understrength division. The Japanese cruisers were trying to help, but there was just too much open sea to go around.

All of this was secondary for Hornet. She had her own problems to deal with, namely, the enemy carriers. Save for the opening minutes of the battle, the opposing carriers had not showed themselves once. Hornet knew that they were there, she just had no idea where they were, or when they would make their presence known. "I still think this is weird. You said you've never seen them hold off for this long?" Hornet raised her rifle to firing position and let a round fly, sending a squadron of Wildcat fighters into the air. She seamlessly lifted her flight deck up and recovered the spent squadron of fighters.

"It is strange," Zuikaku admitted, launching a flight of dive bombers, "Usually whenever carriers are involved, we see their fighters first. Maybe they're holding off to see what you supercarrier does."

Hornet was going to say something, but Dakota came in over the radio and cut her off, "Hey, Hornet, you see anything?" Hornet silently passed the question on to her scout bomber squadron, who were circling high above the battlefield, keeping an eye on things.

A second later, she replied, "Nope, just those two battlewagons are trying to make a push into that gap to our starboard."

"Yeah, I've got Kongou moving her sisters to fill that one," Dakota replied, "I mean, have you seen those carriers yet? No one has been able to spot them yet."

"No, I haven't seen them once."

"I thought Abyssal carriers were always the first to attack. Has Zuikaku ever seen this tactic before?" Hornet mouthed the question to Zuikaku, who had been listening in over her own radio. The Japanese carrier shrugged, then shook her head.

"Zuikaku says she doesn't know. She's only ever seen the Abyssals attack via full frontal assault. This sneaky sneaky thing is new."

"Well, that takes a load off my mind," Dakota said, sarcastically, "We get the Abyssals that are doing things no one's ever seen before, brilliant. Keep me posted, Hornet, and keep those planes flying."

"Will do," Hornet replied.

"What was the point of that?" Zuikaku asked, "You've already told her about every Abyssal you see. Wasn't there no point for that?"

"She's worried about this whole carrier thing," Hornet replied.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I'm worried about the carriers," Hornet said, making an exaggerated gesture to herself. A report from one of her scouts stopped that line of thought. "Two more battlewagons just showed up."

"Where?"

"Near our destroyer's sector. They're going to need help."

"Sending some bombers." Hornet watch though her scouts as a flight of green painted dive bombers peeled out of their patrol and headed toward Nicholas' division. She could see that they were in trouble. The little destroyers were maneuvering heavily to dodge the shells being lobbed at them. There was a pair of Abyssal battleships trying to make an end run on the rear of the strike group, and the only group in that area was Nick's division.

Nicholas was already screaming over the tac-net, "Where is my support? I'm getting torn up out here."

Hornet jumped on to reassure her, "Bombers are on the way, just hold on for a few more minutes." She watched Zuikaku's dive bombers begin their runs on the batteships. The greed painted planes released their ordinance, scoring several hits.

"Call the hits, please," Zuikaku asked.

"Good hits, good hits," Nicholas yelled, "Waiting for status on the target." Hornet could see the ball of smoke around the two battleships, and watching with the same level of apprehension as the destroyers. "They're still up," Nicholas shouted after the smoke had cleared. Hornet was horrified to see that both battleships were still standing, and still firing. "Can you do another run?"

"My bombers are returning, I'm down for twenty minutes," Zuikaku explained.

"I could launch but it would take them at least that long for them to reach you," Hornet said, desperately trying to work the math out in her head in a way that would work, but coming up short every time.

Dakota came over the net next, "Are there any other assets nearby that could assist?"

"I'm engaged," Salt Lake stated, "I can't break contact." Hornet could hear the distinct sound of shellfire in the background of Salt Lake's transmission.

"Sorry, we have a battleship of our own to fight. Maybe next time," replied Kongou.

"If no one can get these bastards off my back, then I'm going to have to disengage," Nicholas said, her voice sounding ragged. Hornet sighed, preparing her own bombers for launch, knowing that they wouldn't get to Nicholas' position in time, but she didn't know who else could help. A new voice came on the channel and it took Hornet a minute to recognize it. The ship girl tac-net had been set up in a way similar to all military radio systems, with one channel connecting Dakota to all of her division commanders, and multiple channels connecting the division commanders with their divisions. What was interesting was the fact that the command channel also was tied into the operations room aboard the _Roosevelt_. So when the voice of Captain Lee Jones came onto the tac-net, Hornet was confused for several seconds

"Dakota, _Halsey_'s in that sector. If you request, I can have birds away in five minutes." Hornet had completely forgotten that the destroyer that had served as their mobile base all the way from Midway to Yokosuka had tagged along with the strike group. Something about her being the only ship in the area with the laser designation system aboard.

"_Halsey_, if you can prosecute the target, then by all means, fire," Dakota came back on.

"_Halsey_ acknowledges the weapons release, and is breaking formation now." Hornet scanned the formation of regular ships, trying to find the _Burke_ class destroyer that was coming to rescue her friends. It took her a second to spot it. The _Halsey_ was the only ship in the formation turning hard over at flank speed.

"We'll try to keep them off you _Halsey_, but were fall back at any time," Nicholas stated.

"Acknowledged, we're launching now." Hornet didn't need the feed from her aircraft to see the next part. A great ball of flame illuminated the foredeck of the _Halsey_ and a missile leaped skyward on a column of flame. It was quickly followed by another, and another. Soon at least half a dozen of the guided rockets were in the air. It only took a few seconds for the AGM-114 Hellfire missiles to reach the end of their trajectories.

The destroyer had been targeting the closer of the two battleships with its laser, and Hornet watched as the missiles dove on the unassuming target, only to envelope it in another ball of flame and smoke. This time, however, there was no more battleship when the smoke cleared. The _Halsey_ wasted no time switching to the second target, loosing another salvo of missiles at that ship. These also struck home with the deadly precision of smart weapons, and sent one more battleship to the bottom.

Nicholas practically whooped with joy when she came over the radio, "Good hits, _Halsey_. You nailed them."

"Roger that, Nicholas, do you have any wounded in need of medical transport?"

"Negative, _Halsey_ a couple bruise and scratches, but nothing major."

"We'll stay on station with you for the next ten minutes, just to be sure," Jones announced.

"Thanks for the help, _Halsey_," Nicholas began, then asked, suddenly, "Dakota, do we have eyes on those carriers?"

"No, they dropped off the scope towards the start of the fight, why?"

"Because about three squadrons of Abyssal aircraft just buzzed over my head, and they're headed for the _TR_." Hornet's blood ran cold, how could she have missed that? Her whole mission was to stop the enemy carriers from getting their air wings anywhere close to the _Roosevelt_, and she had screwed up.

"I'm vectoring my CAP now," she said, doing what she could for the moment. The squadron of Wildcats circling the battlefield, winged over and dove towards the approaching Abyssals. With luck, they could intercept them before they attacked the _Roosevelt_, but only time, and murphy, would tell.

[][][[][][

**Somewhere in the South Pacific, 2100hrs**

"I'm starting to wonder why I was ever talked into this," Wahoo said, too scared to let her voice rise above a whisper

"It's just a bit of sneaking, skipper. The girls do this sort of thing all the time," Tang commented, "What with all the sneaking around supply rooms, warehouses, and officers clu…"

"I don't want to know," Wahoo said, her hand outstretched. She pointed through the darkness towards the lump of an island they were supposed to be investigating. "We have to get close to that beehive of Abyssals, and take pictures. How?"

"Maybe what we need is a little, 'reconnaissance in force'," Harder suggested. Then held something up for Wahoo to investigate.

"Where did you get that?" Wahoo asked, pointing to what was clearly a satchel charge held in Harder's hand.

"When you said we'd be working for the spooks, I figured some heavy artillery was in order. Place one of these babies on top of a torpedo, and quick as that, time bomb."

"Are you actually suggesting we invade that island, plant charges, and blow them?" Wahoo asked, a grin forming on her face.

"All while taking the pictures those spooks so desperately want."

"It's just like what old Lucky Fluckey did with the train," Sealion added, "It's a tradition for us submarines."

"A damned dangerous tradition if you ask me, but I agree. We need to hit this base after we get the intel," Wahoo stated, "How many of the satchels bombs do you have, Harder?"

"I've got three, Lion here has another three, and the twins have two apiece,  
Harder replied.

"Set them up with one torpedo each, and give me and the XO one." Harder tossed the charge to Wahoo, who caught it in midair. "Set them all for 2200, and blow up anything that looks important. When these things go off, we are off the island and diving, sabe? Then let's go." The island was even more dark and foreboding from up close. The sheer aura of evil radiating off this rock was almost overpowering. Wahoo could tell that it had been lush and forested, once. Now all that was left were several acres of dead trees.

The girls came ashore on the far side of the island, hoping to put the landmass between themselves and whatever installations the Abyssals had. They moved in silence though the dead forest, using only hand signals to communicate. Wahoo found a ridgeline overlooking what had to be the main base. It was little more than several organic looking structures, a pile of rusty oil drums, a set of piers, a few things that looked like destroyer types roving a perimeter, and what had to be an Abyssal princess sitting near the shore, facing the sea. The whole area was lit by some sort of otherworldly glow that made Wahoo's skin crawl by just looking at it.

She brought up Webb's camera without a word, and began to click the shutter button. "Harder," she said, her voice as quiet as she could make it, "Try the oil drums first." Harder nodded, then began to walk off, before being grabbed by Wahoo, "And get a look inside one of those buildings if you can." The sub girl nodded, then melted into the darkness. "Sealion," Wahoo said next, "Want to try putting a charge under the dock?"

"I'm game, skipper," she said, before heading down to the waterline.

"What do we do, skipper?" Tang asked.

"Unless you want to go try to tangle with those destroyers, then I suggest we sit tight." Tang nodded, then pressed herself even close into the ground. It only took Sealion a few minutes to affix one of the demo charges under the dock.

She walked back up to the group, and announced, "Done, skipper, and that princess thing was sitting on the far dock, so we may get her in the blast."

"One can only hope." Harder was gone far longer. Wahoo was about to send someone after her, when she appeared, breathless.

'What's up with you?" asked Dace.

"Oil drums are full of bunker fuel," Harder wheezed, "Sheds are full of supplies. Ammo, parts, steel."

"Why did you run back to tell us that?" Tang asked, curious.

"All of it's from ships," Harder said, "These fuckers have not only been sinking ships, they've been cutting them up for parts as well." The realization shocked all of them. To not only be destroyed by these monsters, but to have your proverbially warm body cannibalized to further their war effort, it as sickening. "That's not the worst part, there are bodies in there. Probably crew that went down with the ships. The fucks have them lined up in there, and they're doing God knows what to them." That news caused something to snap inside Wahoo, and she didn't really know what it was.

"The plan has changed," she said, her voice chillingly quiet, "Burn the place to the ground. Kill every last one of those bastards."

"Aye aye, ma'am," Harder said, her mood lifting significantly.

"We still do it quiet," Wahoo said, "But I want that place so wired with explosives, that it could end up on the far side of the moon when we torch the fuse. Harder, take Sealion and lay the rest of your charges. Dace, Darter you take yours and wire the docks. If you can, make damn sure that princess goes up in the kaboom."

"Aye, ma'am," Dace said, then ran off, her sister in tow.

"We'll be back soon, skipper," Harder said, before running off herself. Wahoo stayed on the ridge keeping lookout over this whole affair, constantly keeping one hand on her 3" cannon. She kept checking her watch, noting that the timer for the satchel charges was rapidly approaching. Dace and Darter came back first, their task being the easier of the two, and nodded to indicate that they had succeeded. Wahoo waited for Harder and Sealion for several more minutes, and what about to go get her, when the pair ran up and collapsed in the mud.

When the submarine girls had first approached the Abyssal base—was a better term—they had noticed the perimeter guards immediately, but they were walking the same patch in the same time interval. Wahoo had assumed that security was of little concern to the Abyssals, so those guards were the only security they had. She hadn't expected for there to be a roving patrol in the woods, and these guards were very much of the, 'shoot first ask questions never' variety. The only indication that she got that there were now Abyssals behind them, was when the first shell flew overhead.

This shot served two purposes, besides the original of trying to kill things, it alerted Wahoo to the guard's presence, and it alerted everyone on the base to Wahoo's presence. She wasted no time in flipping over and firing a round into the nearest dark shape. Whether or not she hit something was irrelevant, they needed covering fire to escape. "Run for the water," she shouted, all pretense of stealth being thrown out the window, "The base blows in five minutes, go go go." The submarine girls ran as fast as they could with several dozen Abyssals now on their tails, firing as they went, and hitting nothing in typical Abyssal style.

Wahoo didn't see as the time ticked to 2300, but she certainly felt it. The detonation of the charges almost knocked her off her feet, and she could see a towering plume of smoke and fire rose into the sky. But there was no time for celebration, their pursuers seemed little interested in the death of their comrades, and didn't stop chasing the fleeing subs. Dace and Darter reached the shoreline first, and dive in headfirst. Diving as soon as the water was deep enough. Harder paused on the beach as Wahoo ran over, only to be ordered, "Go on, I'm right behind you.

Tang and Wahoo were the last ones off the island, and Wahoo threw her charge over her shoulder as one last parting gift. Tang went into the water and Wahoo quickly followed, making sure she was the last one to leave the island. She looked over her shoulder as The Abyssal guards broke out of the tree line, and began to fire at the two subs. Wahoo thought that they had just made it, when she saw one of the rounds impact with Tang. The other sub jerked, and was thrown back about two feet. The last charge detonated, killing the remaining Abyssals, as Wahoo ran over to grab her injured comrade. The fact that they had just single handedly wiped out the base didn't matter one bit in her mind. Getting Tang to safety was all that mattered now.

[][]][][[][][][][][][

**A/N:**

That's finally done. Major action chapter this time around as I begin to wrap up this arc. Expect the continuation next chapter.

Since I actually like doing this, review replies:

SulliMike23: You'll have to wait and see on that one.

Thorthemighty321: News of the war's progress and the homefront is going to come out slowly, as most of it is flavortext and I was trying to avoid too much worldbuilding.

Colonel AmiruddinArifSulaiman: Iowa probably won't show up until the next arc at the latest. She's going to be in dry dock for several weeks.

still-guns: Thank you, hope this one is too.

Wolfman-053: Off screen, a few weeks ago. I tend not to go into every single girl who comes back just so I don't overload on characters. As if I don't have enough of that already.

IrohLegoman: Good luck to you sir, and I hope to see you around the fleet someday.

Guest: Part of my whole reason for writing this stuff is to get better at writing.

Advancer231: My hard limit is 5000 words per chapter, and I'm amazed as well that I've managed to write this much. As to the Iowa's, who said they won't appear as ship girls someday… I'm also dealing with the museum ships a lot more in the spin off, mainly because most of the musuems were Atlantic ships.


	17. Chapter 16

_**Theodore Roosevelt **_**Battle Group, July 8, 2018**

"About three squadrons of Abyssal aircraft just buzzed over my head, and they're headed for the _TR_," Nicholas had known that this moment would come for a long time, she just thought that she would feel a bit different when it did. The Abyssal bombers were on their way to attack the carrier that she had been assigned to protect. She was surprised at the fact that she hadn't given in to her fear just yet. The only thing she felt staring at the massive wave of approaching Abyssal, attack aircraft, was worried about the safety of her girls. "We're really in the shit now, ain't we, sis," muttered O'Bannon as she fired an airburst shell at the bombers. The shell arced right into the center of their formation, and detonated, leaving behind a large, black cloud.

"We've been in worse," Nicholas reassured, "This is just like any night in the slot." The rest of her statement was drowned out as her fairy gunners opened up with her quad 40mm Bofors mounts. Nicholas watched as several of the Abyssal bombers dove out of the formation, trailing black smoke. They impacted with the water a few seconds later, but for the four that they had managed to shoot down, six more took their place. It was soon obvious that there were just too many of them for the destroyers to stop.

"This might just be the end, but I'll be damned if I don't go out fighting. It took the entire might of the Japanese Navy to take me out the first time, and there's no way these pissant bombers are going to even come close to that," Johnston bellowed. Nicholas looked at the other destroyer in surprise, this was a side of Johnston she had never seen before. This must be the part of her that remembered the lopsided battle off Samar. The fire that appeared in Johnston's eyes was just a bit off-putting from how Nicholas regarded the normally laid-back destroyer.

"Let's hope it doesn't get that desperate," Radford remarked, "I'd hate to have to go back to wherever we came from now. We have a country to save, again." Nicholas was reassured that her destroyers weren't scared by the incoming attack, or were, at least, were trying to hide their fear.

She keyed her mic and asked, making sure to keep her voice calm, "Some support would be appreciated. I don't know how many of these things we can deal with."

A second later, Hornet jumped on the channel, "Nick, I've got fighters in the air, but they're going to be about five mikes, repeat support is five mikes out. Can you hold that long?"

Nicholas turned to look at her girls, and asked, "Can we hold on for five?"

"We've held on for this long, we can do five more," O'Bannon replied.

"Affirmative," Nicholas said into the radio, "We can wait five." She released the push to talk lying against her chest, and brought her 5" back up. The Abyssals were on top of them now. They passed over Nicholas' head with a monstrous roar before continuing on their way. The destroyers had managed to shoot down several of them, but there were just too many of them. It was as they were passing overhead that Nicholas realized something, their angle was wrong. "O'Bannon," she asked, "Do they look off to you?"

"What do you mean? They look just like the identification photos we were shown."

"It's just that if their target was the _TR_, they would be headed in that direction," She pointed towards the carrier off in the distance, "The way that they're flying, it looks like they're headed for the…" Nicholas trailed off as realization struck. There was only one ship on the edge of the formation that the Abyssals were headed for, and it was only there because it had broken loose to help her. Nicholas wasted no time in keying her mic, "Revise my earlier, Abyssal bombers appear to be making an attack run on the _Halsey_."

"What?" Dakota replied, stunned, "Nick, are you sure?" Nicholas watched the Abyssal bombers for several more seconds, but she was sure of it now. They were pointed right at where the _Halsey_ was steaming.

"Rodger, they're going to attack the _Halsey_."

"_Halsey_ actual, Dakota be advised that inbound hostiles appear to be targeting your ship. How copy?" Dakota said, trying to warn the destroyer.

Captain Jones came on a second later, "Dakota, we've been watching the inbound, and can confirm with Nick's assessment. They're definitely targeting us."

"Dakota, what do you want us to do?" Nicholas asked, trying to make sense of the rapidly changing situation.

"I don't know," Dakota replied, tension evident in her voice, "_Halsey_ what sort of assistance do you want from me?"

Jones somewhat ignored Dakota's question, and said, "Nick, I need your girls to get clear. You are currently in my field of fire, and I can't go weapons free until you get clear."

Nicholas hastily keyed her mic, and said, "Sorry about that, _Halsey_, we're moving out now." She turned to look at where the rest of the girls of DesRon 21 were steaming, "If you didn't hear, we need to get out of here. The _Halsey_ is about to open up with everything she has, and we don't want to get hit. So let's motor."

"Roger that, skipper," Johnston replied, then turned away and opened her throttle. A rooster tail of spray appeared behind the diminutive girl as she cranked her turbines as high as they could go. The rest of the destroyers quickly followed. Nicholas took one last look over her shoulder at the mass of Abyssal bombers, no question in her mind now that they were targeting the haze gray destroyer behind her. She sent a silent plea for the _Halsey_'s safety, then turned to follow her own destroyers.

**USS**_** Halsey**_

"Weps, give me targeting solutions, now if you would," Captain Jones barked, using his CO voice for this situation. Now was not the time for his orders to be questioned. He was staring at the mass of bombers flying directly at his ship. They had been sure that they were making a run for the _TR_, so when they had changed course at the last second to target the _Halsey_, it had come as a surprise to everyone.

"Sir, the 5" is laid in, and the ready rack has airburst loaded," came the reply a second later.

"Then by all means, open fire." Jones could feel the deck under his feet shudder as the Mk45 5" gun up on the foredeck began to spit rounds at the incoming Abyssals. A monitor in the CIC had been tuned to the mount's gun camera, giving a real time view of the damage the gun was pumping out. The gun was cycling rounds just as fast as its autoloader could cycle, pumping shot after shot into the mass of approaching Abyssals, but there were just too many of them for the single gun to handle. "Weps, I need options in case they get though," Jones shouted. The tension in his voice was painfully obvious to everyone in the CIC.

"Sir, the CIWS can't fire in automatic, we can't get a lock. We could fire it in manual, but sir I can't guarantee its effectiveness."

"We target Abyssals all the time with that thing, tell fire control they are free to go local with the CIWS," Jones barked. It only took a moment for his order to be relayed to the petty officer manning the fire control terminal for the Phalanx CIWS mount. The _Halsey_'s single Phalanx turned to face the incoming attack, then fired off a burst from its six barreled 20mm gatling cannon. A stream of tracers arced towards the mass of bombers, striking a few down with its first pass. The cannon quickly fired again and again, striking more and more Abyssals down with each burst, but it wasn't enough.

It was quickly becoming clear, that they we're going to be able to get out of this one unscathed. There were just too many aircraft for the _Halsey_ to deal with. Those Abyssal CVs must have put every single bomber they had into the air to pull off this little stunt. Jones gave the last order he could give to try to save his ship, "Hard left rudder, full back on the port screw." He was hoping that the sudden course change would throw off the torpedo bomber's aim, causing them to miss. The _Halsey_ lurched under his feet as the stern dug into the water. The bow began to come around, the destroyer's course swinging out away from the formation.

The bombers anticipated this move. The few that had made it through the gauntlet of fire, adjusted their course to intercept the _Halsey_'s new course. Jones watched the screen as the first bombers dropped their fish. There was literally nothing he could do at this point. The torpedoes would either hit, or they wouldn't, there was nothing he could do to change that. With a note of grim finality, he ordered, "Sound collision, all hands brace for impact." He watched as the last bombers launched their torpedoes. Gripping the seat in front of him so tightly, that his knuckles turned a shade of pale white. He watched the screen with reservation as the collision alarms began to blare.

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"_Halsey_, sitrep." Dakota screamed into her radio. The ship had gone radio quiet several seconds prior. They were probably just focusing everything on the incoming attack, but Dakota was starting to get worried. "_Halsey_, what's happening?" she was pleading now, desperate to know what had happened. This how battle was starting to swing in the Abyssal's favor, and Dakota didn't know what to do to change that.

A series of loud explosions ripped through the air, stunning everyone into silence. A second later, Nicholas came on the net, confirming Dakota's worst fear, "Dakota, Nick, _Halsey_'s been hit. Pretty bad too. I count at least five separate detonations. She's dead in the water."

"Affirmative, Nick, see if you can raise anyone over there. I'll keep trying from here," Dakota said, then lowered her gaze to the water, trying to think things through as quickly as she could. There was a disturbing thought beginning to form at the back of her mind. The Abyssal carriers had remained hidden for the entirety of the fight, only appearing to launch what amounted to an alpha strike, throwing every single aircraft a carrier had into one, devastating attack. Then, they had aimed their attack at a destroyer at the rear of the formation, rather than at the _Roosevelt_, their main target. There was only one reason that she could think of for the Abyssals to target the _Halsey_, the Hellfire missile system. The _Halsey_ was the only ship in this formation that carried the missiles, and the Abyssals must have guessed this. They had waited until they could positively identify the ship carrying that weapon, then targeted it with everything they had. If that was the case, then the bombers weren't the only thing about to attack the destroyer. They had to have more planned for it.

Nicholas came back on, stopping Dakota from continuing down that train of thought, "Dakota, we have a signal lamp from the _Halsey_. They say that their main turbines have been disabled, and are having trouble with their backup generators. From what I read, they're on backup batteries only."

"Roger that, Nick," Dakota replied with a sigh, "Get close and render any aid you can."

"Solid copy, we're moving in now." Dakota nodded, not caring that no one could see the gesture. Her earlier though continued to gnaw at her.

So much so that she jumped back on the net and ordered, "Hornet, see if you can vector some aircraft over to the _Halsey_, I have a bad feeling about this one."

Hornet replied quickly, "They're already on the way, but I think the CVs are still operational in that area."

"Explain?"

"Fighters, I think they have fighters up there. I can't send in my attack birds or they'll get cut to ribbons. I have Wildcats on the way, but if anything major shows up, I don't know how much help I can be."

"Just do you best, that's all I can ask, Dakota out for now." Dakota had to physically stop herself from putting a fist through the ship she was sailing next to. This whole day had gone badly from minute one, and she was having trouble rolling with the Abyssals' punches. It took all her strength to not become completely overwhelmed, but she knew that they couldn't keep this up much longer. All of them were starting to get tired. Then with the loss of the _Halsey_'s support, the ship girls were on their own once more.

Then things started to go from bad to really bad, "SoDak, we've got more tangos popping up," Nicholas announced, "I've got two cruiser types, possible heavies." Dakota swore loudly, and grabbed her face in exasperation.

It took her a second before she could reply, "What are they doing?"

"Looks like their targeting the _Halsey_. We've been plinking at them, but their shots are only landing around the big girl."

Hornet broke in, "Can confirm, there are two battlewagons approaching where the _Halsey_ broke off."

"Can you help?" Dakota asked, desperate to end this fight.

"No," Hornet replied, "I was right earlier, there are enemy fighters in the air over that location. My fighters are engaging, but it'll be a few minutes until I can get attack birds over there."

"Nick, can your girls deal with this?" Dakota asked next, desperately trying to find a solution to this new problem.

"Sorry, SoDak, they're not shooting at us now, but we would have to use torps to make any sort of dent on them. I don't feel comfortable closing to that sort of range with these targets.."

"Affirmative, just keep it up," Dakota said sighing.

A new voice came over the tac net, "Dakota, this is _Roosevelt_ CIC, flight deck reports that the earlier damage has been fixed, and that the alert fighters will be in the air momentarily. I am transferring their control over to you. Tell them what to shoot, and they'll shoot it." This news was somewhat of a relief to Dakota. The _Roosevelt_ had taken a hit earlier on in the fight. The result of which had knocked out the steam generation system for the carrier's catapults. Without which the _Roosevelt_'s air wing was useless.

"Just in time _Roosevelt_," Dakota said, then replied, "Nick, vector in the fighters please, you're the closest."

"Got it, we've got a laser, we'll mark the targets."

Another new voice came onto the channel, "Dakota, this is Nighthawk lead. I have a four ship element of Echo model Hornets. Give us a target, and we'll paste it."

Nicholas answered instead, "Nighthawk lead, this is DesRon 21 actual, the current threats are in the south end of the formation. I'm looking at two cruisers near my position doing their level best to smoke a DDG."

"On the way, we'll be there in five, Nighthawk out." Dakota had a different type of thought just then, that maybe, just maybe, they could turn this battle around.

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"Johnston, you still got that painter?" Nicholas asked. Johnston looked up from her cannon and looked over at Nicholas.

"Yeah, I've got it," she grabbed what looked like a pair of oversized binoculars from where they hung around her neck, "I still don't know why you trusted me with this thing."

"I need to focus on the bigger picture, I don't trust O'Bannon not to break them, and Radford doesn't need distractions," Nicholas explained, earning her a scathing look from O'Bannon. Nicholas ignored her and continued, "Dakota gave every division one of those things to look after, it's supposed to be able to guide the rockets from the air support we're about to get. Plus, you have the most experience with carrier ops here."

"I worked with an escort carrier group for two weeks, and I don't have to tell you how that ended," Johnston protested.

"That's two weeks more than the rest of us have."

Johnston sighed then asked, "So all I do it point this at the target we want to hit, press the trigger?"

"That's right. Their callsign is Nighthawk, and they're on frequency ten." Johnston nodded, then looked over at the pair of Abyssal cruisers. They had been pounding the crippled _Halsey_ for the last five minutes. The destroyers had tried to engage them, but they were doing a good job of staying out of range for accurate return fire. Then throw in the fact that there were at least a dozen Abyssal fighters in the air zooming around, and they would swoop down to try strafing runs every so often, forcing the destroyers to constantly keep one eye pointing skywards. Hornet's Wildcats were trying to deal with the latter problem, they were dogfighting furiously up there now, but it would take some time before the Abyssals were destroyed.

Johnston changed the channel on her radio, then called, "Nighthawk, this is Johnston, I'm going to be your controller for today. I have two cruisers to my front, who are doing their level best to destroy the _Halsey._"

"Roger that, Johnston, Nighthawk lead here, someone told me that you have a target painter. Mark me up a target, and I'll put a Maverick right through its head," came the reply a second later.

"First target is marked, it's the cruiser closest to the DDG. If your missiles are anything like the Hellfires, then one should be enough." Johnston centered the indicated cruiser in the designator, then turned the device on. The beam of light it shot out was invisible to the naked eye, but it showed up clear as day through the designator. The Abyssal had no idea that it had been marked for death.

"I have good tone, rolling in now," the pilot called. She couldn't see the F-18 roll in overhead through the designator, but she could hear it. Its engines emitting an earsplitting shriek as it passed over her. The sound of the AGM-65 Maverick missile being ignited was almost drowned out in the engine noise. A second later Johnston saw the glowing dot of its exhaust impact with the Abyssal, leaving behind a growing cloud of smoke and fire.

"Good hit," Johnston called as she had been instructed, "Moving to the next target." It only took a few minutes before a second missile impacted with the last cruiser, leaving the expanse of water around free and clear of an Abyssal presence. "My area is clear Nighthawk, thanks for the help."

"Anytime Johnston, ya'll feel free to come by the VFA-136 ready room later and I'll buy the drinks," came the reply, the pilot's voice clearly jovial.

"I might just take you up on that Nighthawk."

He switched back to the tactical net and reported, "Dakota, Nighthawk lead, all targets prosecuted. We're moving to a patrol station over the _TR_. Give us a whistle if you need some more help." Johnston tuned out the rest of that conversation, focusing instead on how things were going on around her. She could see no Abyssals anywhere in her field of view, even the fighters were gone. Then, as if they were making a point, Hornet's Wildcats thundered overhead. A flight of Mitsubishi A6M Zeros buzzed past, causing Johnston to jump. She had to take a second to remind herself that those planes were no longer the enemy. A fact demonstrated when they formed up with the Wildcats. Obviously, the carriers were chasing down the last of the Abyssal aircraft.

Radford was the first one to find her voice, "We did it. We actually did it."

"Don't celebrate just yet," Nicholas chided, "I'd like to get a look at the big picture first."

"Fine, then let's ask the big boss," O'Bannon said, and keyed her own radio before Nicholas could stop her, "Hey, SoDak, how're things looking?"

"Who… O'Bannon? What are you doing on this channel?" Dakota replied, startled.

"Trying to be funny, again," Hornet replied. Nichols gave her sister a punch, but her face was clearly smiling.

"In all honesty, what does the situation look like?" Nicholas asked.

"We're clear," Salt Lake replied first, speaking for the first time in a while, "We've been clear for a bit, but Atlanta took a hit and had to be dropped off with one of the _Tico_s. Where do you want us?"

"I see no Abyssals, Dakota. I haven't seen anything other than a few destroyers all day," Fubuki replied, marking the first time the Japanese destroyer had used the radio.

"Save for a few fighters near the tin cans, CAP is clear as well," Hornet added, "I'm dealing with them now.

"Then if the destroyers are clear, and I'm not miscounting, then I'd say we're through. We've weathered the storm people."

"One question though," Hornet came back on, "Where are the carriers?"

"They tend to run away once the battle is no longer in their favor," Fubuki replied, "If we have not found them yet, then we probably never will."

"That sounds scary," Hornet commented.

Nicholas dropped her PTT, and said, "We did it, we're through," clearly not believing the fact completely herself. O'Bannon let out a whoop of joy, then clapped her sister on the back.

"We sure showed them who owns the sea. The US Navy bitches, come all ye hell or high waters be damned." Johnston nodded, preferring to remain silent. A load groan from behind her caused her to snap her head around. What she saw wasn't a pretty sight.

"Hey, guys, you might want to take a look at this." Behind them, the _Halsey_ was still floating, but the destroyer looked much the worse for wear. Two ragged tears were visible below the waterline, clear damage from the torpedo assault, and her flank was littered with tears and gouges probably caused by fire from the two heavy cruisers. The mast was laid over on its side, only held in place by a single guy line. Smoke poured from some fire burning below deck, and the entire ship had a pronounced list to port. "I think she's sinking." Then, as if to punctuate Johnston's point, the earsplitting sound of rending steel ripped through the air, and the _Halsey_'s list became more pronounced.

"I think she's had it," Radford said, "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to do what _Chevalier_ did for _Strong_, we're going to get as many sailors off as we can," O'Bannon stated, her voice firm.

Nicholas wasted no time in asking over the radio, "Hey, I'm looking at the _Halsey_ right now, and I don't think she is going to make it. Permission to go aboard and help the survivors?"

It took five, long minutes before a reply from Dakota came, "Go ahead, but be careful. There's a rescue chopper on the way, with more to follow if she's really sinking."

"Got it, we'll be careful," Nicholas replied, ten turned to look at her destroyers, "Come on, we don't have much time." Johnston followed her as she tore off towards the sinking destroyer, hoping that she could get there in time to be of some help to the dying ship.

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**Somewhere in the South Pacific**

Wahoo was worried. She had been carrying Tang's unconscious form for several hours, and the other submarine still showed no signs of improvement. The wound in her stomach had been hastily bandaged, but it was still leaking blood. Tang's breathing was shallow and ragged now, and her complexion was growing paler by the minute. "Isn't there something else we could do for Ms. Tang," Harder asked, frustrated that she couldn't do anything more to help her friend.

"We just have to wait a little bit longer," Wahoo said, "Help will come eventually."

"What gives you that idea?" Sealion snapped, "We're out in the middle of the ocean. What possible help could come to save us? We have to face facts, the cavalry isn't going to come riding over the hill, we're on our own. What do we do now?"

As if to answer Sealion's question, Dace yelled over from here she had been stationed for lookout duty, "I've got something coming, skipper. Something big."

"Where," Wahoo said, snapping her head around. Dace raised her hand to point. It took Wahoo a minute to see it, a roiling mass of bubbles churning the ocean that looked oddly familiar. Then, it broke through the surface, the black mass of a submarine's conning tower. Soon the entire form of a surfaced submarine appeared, and was quickly identified as a _Virginia_ class boat. With a wide grin, Wahoo slapped Sealion on the back, "What were you saying again?"

"Wha… how?" was all Sealion could say.

Wahoo tossed her something from behind her back, then explained, "The CIA spook who gave us this job, also gave me this. He said it was a locater beacon that would call for help in case we ran into trouble."

"And you didn't tell us about this?" Harder asked, incredulously.

"I forgot," Wahoo said, with a shrug.

"YOU FORGOT?" Harder screamed, "HOW COULD YOU FORGET?"

"Calm down, I triggered it after Tang got hit, and we were so busy running, that it must have slipped my mind."

A figure appeared on the top of the sub's conning tower, and raised a megaphone, "Ahoy there, you called for help?"

"Come on you lot, we don't have time to argue this," Wahoo made sure that she had a tight grip on Tang, then began to sail towards the new arrival. She closed with the boat, and shouted as loudly as she could, "USS Wahoo here, I have a casualty who needs immediate medical attention. Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted," the reply came, then the figure leaned ducked out of view, probably running to fetch a corpsman. It didn't take the submarine girls long to reach the long deck of the _Virginia_. There they met a group of ratings who took Tang from Wahoo's grasp, and helped the rest of them below. Someone thrust a towel at Wahoo, which she gladly accepted, toweling off her soaking wet hair.

Someone approached her in the throng and asked, "Are you Wahoo?"

"The one and only." She replied.

"Captain Donald, welcome aboard the USS _South Dakota_," Donald extended his hand, which Wahoo promptly accepted

"So you're the help we were promised?"

"I don't know about that, all I know is that we were on a reconnaissance mission, and we were called to the surface. Then given a GPS coordinate, and told to pick someone up there. I never expected submarine girls. I didn't even know we had submarine girls. That is what you are isn't it?"

"That's right, I'm Wahoo, and those two are Darter and Dace. The one behind me with the scowl is Sealion, and her partner in crime to the left is Harder."

"It's good to meet you all, now if you will excuse me, where too ma'am?"

"Can you make it to Midway? That's where our main base is."

"We could sail all the way back to Norfolk if we needed to, these nuclear powered boats can go anywhere in the world."

Harder reached up and poked Wahoo in the shoulder, "Can we talk about this after we've found a place to store our rigs, and get some food?"

"She has a good point," Wahoo looked over at Donald, "Captain?"

Donald nodded, then shouted, "COB." A burly looking man wearing CPO's anchors appeared, this must be the chief of the boat, or COB, the highest ranking enlisted man aboard the sub.

"You bellowed, skipper?"

"Take the ladies here somewhere where they can get changed, then go find them some chow."

"Sure thing, skipper. Come on ladies." Wahoo followed the COB as he led them deeper into the sub.

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**USS **_**Halsey**_

The ship looked completely different from the last time Johnston had seen it. The corridors were dark, cluttered with debris, and filled with the type of smoke that can only be caused by burning fuel oil**. **What lights were working, glowed with the angry, red light of emergency lamps. The destroyers had found this scene upon first coming aboard the _Halsey_. Luckily, there were enough active crewmembers to help with the rescue effort, and both of the ship's zodiacs had been pushed over the rail to serve a lifeboats. Nicholas had ordered the girls to split up and comb the ship for survivors, then help whoever they could up to the deck.

Johnston had headed down, hoping to find survivors in the protected areas of the ship. She was poking her head into an empty room, when someone reached out and grabbed her. She let out a shriek of surprise and wheeled around to see the disheveled face of Captain Jones. "Johnston? When did you get here? Never mind, I need your help. The bridge got cut off, and I know there's someone up there."

"Captain," Johnston said, grabbing the man's shoulder, "How's your ship?"

"We're dead," Jones replied, his voice devoid of emotion, "The turbines are gone, and those damn battlewagons took out our backup generators. We're sinking, it's just a matter of when." He shook off her hand, then ran off down the corridor. As Johnston followed him, she noticed that he had not escaped the attack unscathed. His dark skin was stained with blood from half a dozen minor wounds, and he had a pronounced limp.

"Sir, what happened?"

Jones replied without looking back, "I was in the CIC when the torpedoes hit. One detonated right under engineering. Broke the old girl's back in exactly the wrong spot. Even if the turbines weren't trashed, the prop shafts have been snapped. I was trying to push my way back into engineering, when a steam line ruptured. I got caught by the shrapnel."

"Sir, where are we going?"

"There is a ladder well up ahead that will lead up to the bridge," Jones pointed down the corridor, "There are a few shops up ahead that might be occupied."

"I've been checking them as I went, and I haven't seen anyone yet. Everyone else is spread out through the rest of the ship, helping survivors."

They walked in silence for several minutes before Jones asked, "How did the battle end? I'm assuming that it's over, if you're in here instead of out there."

"Those last two battlewagons were the last ones. A flight of Hornets off the _TR_ nailed them," Johnston replied, then said with a note of pride, "I painted them with the laser."

"So was it our missiles that made them attack my ship?" Jones asked quietly.

"That's what we figured," Johnston replied, "They only targeted her after she fired them."

"They told me that might happen, but we smoked the BBs before we got pasted, so there's at least that." Jones reached up to undog a hatch, explaining, "It's just through here." They climbed several flights of ladders, before coming out in the superstructure. Jones pointed down the new corridor, "You work your way forward. Check the chart room and the main bridge are that way. I'm heading aft."

"I'll see you later, sir."

Jones gave her one last look, and said, "Good luck, Johnston."

"You too, sir."

She had made it barely ten feet down the corridor before her headset barked with Nicholas's voice, "Johnston, where are you?"

"Making my way to the bridge, Captain Jones seems to think that someone's still up there," Johnston replied.

"You found Jones?"

"Yeah, he led me up to the pilothouse. We split up though." Johnston found the door marked, "Chart Room," towards the end of the corridor. This was the space just aft of the main bridge. She opened the hatch to find a room filled with loose paper and books spread everywhere, but no people.

Nicholas kept talking while she searched, "You need to hurry up, the list is increasing, and I don't know how much longer this ship can float. Do what you have to do, then high tail it back down to the deck."

"Got it, I'll be down in five." Johnston moved to the hatch leading to the main bridge, briefly remembering the first time she had stepped through this very hatch, what seemed like a lifetime ago. "Anybody here?" she shouted. There were several forms that she could see. There were two limp forms on the deck, enlisted by the look of their uniforms. Johnston swore, and moved to the first, a young man who looked barely old enough to shave. While his body sported several, superficial wounds, he seemed to be relatively okay. A quick finger to his neck confirmed that he was still alive, only unconscious. "Come on, wake up, we have to go," Johnston said, gently shaking his shoulders.

After several tries, each increasing in pressure, he coughed and looked up, "What happened?"

"Your ship got sunk, we have to go." She looked over at the other figure. This one was a woman, about Johnston's age, with short, blonde hair. Thankfully, she was only unconscious as well. She looked pretty banged up though. Her uniform was streaked with dried blood in several places, and her left leg was bent at an odd angle, indicating a possible break.

After trying, and failing, to rouse her, the young man stepped over, "Here, lemme help." He grabbed her around the neck, and hoisted her onto his shoulder, careful not to aggravate her injured leg.

"Come on, we have to get out of here. I don't know how much longer this ship can last," Johnston pushed her way back out into the corridor, leading her new charges.

"I'm Seaman Broun by the way, who are you? I don't think I've met you before, but then again, I've only been aboard this ship for three weeks. Just graduated from Great Lakes. This is my first assignment. I never expected the Navy to be this exciting," Broun said, not even pausing to take a breath.

"Almost getting killed is exciting?" Johnston deadpanned.

"It's, better than having to stand with the logbook all day."

"Johnston," she said suddenly

"Come again?" he said, clearly confused.

"My name is Johnston, I was one of the ship girls posted to your ship a week ago."

"Oh, nice to meet you Ms. Johnston. Do you have a first name? I just think it's weird to call a girl Johnston is all."

"I haven't thought about it that much, I've been too busy trying to adapt to this new life."

"You really used to be a ship? Like this one," Broun made a vague sweeping gesture.

Johnston nodded, then said, "I even went down just like she did."

"I think that's really cool, it must have been real neat to have been a…." Broun continued, but was cut off.

"Johnston, you made it to the bridge?" Captain Jones shouted, as he ran forward.

"Yes, sir," she replied, then pointed towards where Broun was standing, "These two were the only ones I found."

"Good, we have to get going, one of the bulkheads below must have given way. We're almost twenty degrees down at the stern." Johnston hadn't even noticed that while she was dealing with Broun and the mystery girl, but now she could see that the deck did have a pronounced slat to it. "Come on, there's no one else on this deck, and your friends are waiting for us topside." The deck shuddered violently, adding a few more degrees to the list.

"What are we waiting for?" Broun said, then made a beeline for the ladder well. Johnston shrugged, then following in his footsteps. It was tricky navigating the steep stairs with the ship's ever increasing list, but they eventually made it down to the level of the main deck. "Captain, you said something about help being on deck?" Broun asked once they reached the bottom, "I think she needs medical help as quickly as possible."

"Go, son, don't wait for my approval," Jones ordered. Broun nodded, then darted down the corridor towards the main deck.

"We're almost free, captain, just a few more feet," Johnston said, more in order to calm her own ragged nerves. She didn't get more than two. The unmistakable sound of rending metal caused her to snap her head up, just in time to see a structural member hurtling down towards her head. That beam must have weighed half a ton, and she was too stunned to jump out of the way. She felt a hand on her chest push her free at the last second, and was thrown several feet down the corridor. The member and a pile of loose piping and conduit came crashing to the deck with a roar. The plates under her shook with the violent impact. It took her several seconds to regain her footing, as the deck now was listing at greater than thirty degrees. She looked behind her to see a pile of debris blocking the entrance to the ladder well, and no sign of Captain Jones.

"CAPTAIN," Johnston screamed, then began to furiously dig at the pile.

"Go," came a weak reply from behind the detritus, "You can't do anything for me. But you can still save yourself."

"I'm not leaving you, sir. I already lost one skipper, I'm not losing another," Johnston said, her voice wavering.

"Johnston, this is an order. Save yourself, don't throw your life away like this. You were given a second chance, don't waste it for my sake."

"But sir," she was in tears now, "I can't abandon you."

Jones' voice was weaker now, fading with each passing moment, "I'm already gone, Johnston. I knew what the risks were when I volunteered for this job. I'm ready to pay that price, but it's not time for you, yet. Go, finish this war. Make Captain Evans proud."

"Tell him about me, tell him I'm doing my best," Johnston said, not able to stop herself, "Tell him I miss him, and tell my sisters I miss them too." She stood up, somehow filled with a new resolve, and pushed her way out of the dying ship.

Nicholas was standing on the other side of the hatch, obviously waiting for her to emerge, "What took you so long? I was starting to get worried." Then she noticed something, "Where is Jones? The Seaman said he was with you." Johnston didn't say a word, only shook her head, and walked past her commander. She picked up her rigging, but didn't bother to put it back on, instead deciding to hop down into one of the waiting RHIBs.

Seaman Broun was already there, looking at her in confusion, "Where is the captain? I thought he was with you."

"He," Johnston began, but had to spend several seconds chocking back her tears, "He didn't make it."

"We were so close," Broun said, shocked, "How did it happen."

"Giving me another chance," Johnston replied, "Giving me another chance." Broun didn't say another thing for the rest of the trip, and Johnston didn't do much but cry.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

**Henderson Field, NS Midway Island, July 10, 2018**

** "**What was the final count, sir?" Walker asked. Smith looked through the Seahawks forward bulkhead at the pilot.

"You didn't hear?" Smith asked, checking his harness to ensure that it was properly fastened.

"No, sir, I've been out laying early warning nets all week. I haven't had a chance to read over the latest news," Walker replied.

"We lost the _Halsey_. Dakota thinks that she was singled out because of the hellfires."

"Casualties?"

"Pretty bad. A large part of her crew, as well as her captain,"

"Damn, that bad?"

"He was a good man, we worked together several times before this whole mess started. A fine officer," Smith replied, giving one of his highest compliments, "They didn't run into any resistance after that fight. Abyssals probably devoted everything they had. Dakota figures that they be clear all the way back to Pearl."

"Well, sir, they are currently located one hour to our south, and I should have us there in about that time, weather permitting," Walker announced. The pitch of the engines changed, and the Seahawk leaped into the air. "You never told me why E's tagging along," Walker said, trying to change the subject.

Smith looked over to where Enterprise was strapped in next to him, "Admiral Davies wanted her to be a part of this process. He thinks that she'll be a good face for our program." Walker nodded silently, accepting the explanation.

"The _Roosevelt _is waiting for us, we better not waste any time," Walker said, then pointed the helicopter out towards the ocean, and began to accelerate. "Another thing, sir, what ever happened to the submarines?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. First, I get a call through Davies that they're wrapped up in some sort of intelligence matter, and when I try to get information from my ONI contacts, I get told its Langley's sort of intelligence."

"CIA? How did they get involved with those spooks?"

"I have no clue, but things don't stop there. Then my wife gets a call from one of her old submarine buddies. He says that his boat got a ping off a satellite tracker, and when they popped up to check it out, there's Wahoo, calmly waiting for a pickup."

"So, where are they now?"

"Halfway back to here by now. They'll probably get home just about the time we start the media circus in Pearl."

"Well, good luck with that, sir. I just fly the planes, I don't do the legwork."

"And it's something you excel at, commander," Smith replied, then leaned back, trying to catch at least a little sleep on this flight.

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_**Theodore Roosevelt**_

The _Roosevelt_'s sick bay shared the same antiseptic smell possessed by all hospitals. It was a sparse space, a room of bare steel walls and the barest of essentials. Johnston had been standing a silent vigil in this room for two days now. Sitting beside the bed of the mystery girl who she had played a part in rescuing. She really didn't know why she felt a connection to this girl, but she just couldn't tear herself away from her side. She had been unconscious ever since Broun carried her aboard two days ago. The doc claimed that she would come around on her own in time. Johnston couldn't bear to not be with her when that did happen. She was reading through the book Captain Smith had leant her, when someone asked, "How is she?" Johnston looked up to see Broun standing over her bed.

"Doc says she's going to be fine. Just a broken leg and some cuts. It's just a matter of time before she wakes up."

Broun pulled a chair over to Johnston's side and said, "How have you been? Your sisters are all worried about you. They say that you've been holed up in here ever since the battle ended. They want to know if you need any help."

Johnson scoffed, "What's it to them, or you for that matter."

Broun put a hand to his chest in mock horror, "What? I'm not allowed to be worried for the health of the person who saved my life? And as to you sisters, I see that there's some bad blood there, but I can assure you, they do care for you."

"I'm sorry," Johnston apologized, "This whole affair has just left me a little ragged. I'm still not used to being pushed this far."

"Hey, why don't you come with me down to the mess, and we can grab some grub? I heard that today's lunch is supposed to be tolerable."

"Can I take a raincheck on that? I don't think I can leave her alone just yet."

"They why don't I go get some coffee, and we can wait with her together?"

"That would be fine," Johnston said, giving Broun a friendly smile, which caused him to break out into a deep blush.

"I'll- I'll just go get that then," he stammered, then forced his way out of the room. Johnston sat back in her chair, shaking her head. She spent several minutes trying to figure out what Broun's connection was with her, failing on all attempts. A sudden sound from the bed caused Johnston to look down. The girl was starting to come around. She groaned loudly then her eyes fluttered open. She blinked several times, as if she was unprepared for the harsh light of the room.

"What hit me," she groaned, then looked around the room, "Better still, where am I?"

"You're okay, you're safe," Johnston said, reaching down to take the girl's hand, "You're aboard the _Roosevelt_ getting medical treatment." She looked up at Johnston for several seconds, obviously trying to process something, then grabbed Johnston in a tight embrace.

"Thank you Johnston, I just know you would come through for me. You and your sisters certainly are a wonderful bunch."

"I'm sorry," Johnston said, confused, "Do I know you?"

"You do," she announced with conviction, "Or you did, or maybe you still do? But not like this, I'm a bit surprised to be like this myself. I thought I was too young for something like this."

"Johnston broke free from her embrace and held up a hand, "Stop, you're confusing me. Take it from the beginning. Who are you?"

"I am, or rather I was, the USS Halsey, 46th of the _Arleigh Burke_ class of guided missile destroyers. Now I guess I'm the first of the guided missile ship girls?"

"What?" Johnston said, shocked, "How? Why are you here?"

"I can only answer one at a time," Halsey said, giggling, "I guess I'm like you. As to how, I don't know, all I know is that I was getting pounded by the Abyssals. I got hit pretty badly, and I just knew that I wasn't going to get out of this one. I just couldn't let it end here, not when there was so much fighting left to do. Then I remembered you and your sisters, and thought that it would be nice if I could fight again just like you are. Something snapped, I blacked out, and woke up here." Johnston stood in stunned silence, trying to make sense of this, and failing miserably.

She didn't even hear Broun returning with the coffee, "Hey, they were out of sugar, so I hope you like it black. Oh look, she's awake. How are you? I'm Seaman Broun. I carried you clear of the _Halsey_."

"You didn't carry me clear, how could I be clear of myself," Halsey said, giggling fiercely. Even Broun was confused by that, casting a questioning look at Johnston.

"Seaman," Johnston said, after regaining her voice, "I would like you to meet Halsey. The former spirit of the USS _Halsey_."

"So, she's like you now? How did that happen? If that's possible why haven't we seen more new shipgirls?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know," Johnston said, cutting off Broun's stream of questions, "Could you please go find Dakota. I need a word with her."

"Sure thing," Broun began to leave, then turned back, "It's nice to meet you, Halsey. Maybe we could talk again later? And I hope you like the coffee Johnston, I'd really like to get that dinner sometime."

After he had left, Halsey looked up and said, "I think he has a crush on you." Johnston ignored the comment and sat back down in her chair.

"When did my life get so strange?" she said, putting her head in her hands. This had to be the roughest week of her entire life.

[][][][][][][][][][][]

**A/N:** HA, finally done with that chapter. That took entirely too long, but I had a series of finals sap the will to write, and then writers block did the rest.

Well now that we're past the climax for this arc, it's time to ride back to port. There will be one or two more chapters in this arc, then I'm going to pick up the tempo of this story. So expect things to start happening much faster.

Review time!:

Thorthemighty321: Things can never be easy for the good guys, even if I write it that way sometimes.

SulliMike23: You'll just have to wait and see, but it can't be good.

Bohba13: War never is a clean affair, and as to the Crossroads ships. I was thinking about a major get together down the road for ships from every nation. How that ends up is still up for grabs, but we'll see.

Rubin34: Thank you very much.

Hayane234: I like to think that as I write more I improve my skills, and as to problems, we've pretty much hit the end for the next few chapters.

Wolfman-053: Tang's still with us for a while, and as for museum ships. I've established that they can self-summon, now it's just a case of waiting for the situations to present themselves.

Adm: Most of the engagements between Wildcats and Zeroes involved turnfighting. It was the standard Japanese tactic for the entire war, and why their fighters were built so light. Honestly, that was the main advantage I could think of that the Zero had over the Wildcat.

Revinator: You have some pretty good ideas, and while I can't use some of them for plot reasons, I'll look into it.

Advancer231: Thank you for the comment. As to _Iowa_, all I'm going to say is that she might show up in the next arc.

F-14 Tomcat Lover: The captured tincan you're thinking of is the _Stewart_, and I have a plan for her, and for quite a few of the other ships you mentioned. We're going to see some new characters towards the end of this arc, so look forward to that. Also, finally, someone got my blatant referencing.

Anonymous: Hope this is satisfactory.


	18. Chapter 17

**USS **_**Theodore Roosevelt**_**, July, 10, 2018**

James Smith couldn't remember the last time he had been aboard a carrier. It had to have been before the war started. The Seahawk approached the deck, then settled down on one of the landing spots. Smith was out the door before the rotors stopped turning. He had to brace himself against helo's rotor wash as he ran out onto the deck. To his surprise, Dakota was standing near the island, apparently waiting for him. The battleship snapped off a quick salute, and said, "Welcome aboard, sir." At least that's what Smith thought she said, the noise of the carrier's deck made it hard to understand her. Even with the ship so close to Pearl, flight operations never stopped.

Smith returned Dakota's salute, and said, "Good to see you again. I heard you had a little adventure while you were away." He was close enough to her now that he could hear her over the roar of aircraft.

"You could say that, sir," she replied, her expression changing for a second and she lowered her gaze to the deck. That was something Smith would have to talk to her about later. Enterprise jumped out of the helo, and ran across the deck to meet up with them.

"I saw pictures, but I never really thought they were this big," she gushed.

"Carriers have matured a lot from back in your day," Smith replied, "That's what comes from becoming the new center of naval warfare." Enterprise didn't reply, she was too busy scanning everything that was happening on the deck.

Dakota ignored the little exchange, and said, "Why is Enterprise here?"

"Admiral Davies though that she would make a good face for the cameras to look at, and I agree with him," Smith replied.

"Oh, we're going to do a press… thing when we get back to Pearl Harbor, aren't we?" Dakota sighed, "Talking to the media hounds, and Third Fleet HQ, sounds like fun." There was definitely something going on with her that Smith needed to figure out.

"You don't have to sound so excited about it," Enterprise quipped. Smith raised a hand to indicate that he wanted to talk now.

"Dakota, is there somewhere we could talk about what happened? I'd like to get the story straight from you."

"Yes, we could use the ready room they turned over to us."

"And how hard would it be to round up the rest of the girls?"

"Decently sir, they're spread all around the ship by now. We cut back our patrol schedule pretty far after the battle." Smith nodded silently, thinking about a possible course of action.

"Let's go visit that ready room first," he said after a minute, then turned to Enterprise, "I want you to go find everyone else. I'd like their reports as well."

Enterprise nodded, "Aye sir. I'll be back soon." She disappeared through an open hatch a second later.

"Let's go, we don't have all day," Smith announced once she had left.

"This way, sir," Dakota lead Smith down below the carrier's deck. They walked in silence for several minutes, and Smith was reminded once more of just how big carriers are. If he was back aboard the _Evans_, he could have walked to anywhere in the ship in ten minutes. Here, he could walk for ten times that long, and still not see the whole ship. Smith was about to make a comment to this effect, when a man wearing the insignia of a seaman ran up to Dakota.

"Miss, miss," he said, "You wouldn't happen to be South Dakota, would you?"

"Yes, and you are, sailor?" Dakota replied.

"Seaman Broun, ma'am," he said, "Miss Johnston told me to come find you."

Smith felt that this would be a good time to interpose himself, "Son, exactly why were you sent to find Lieutenant Dakota?"

"Sir, I don't think you would believe me if I told you," Broun replied, cryptically, "Miss Johnston is in the sick bay, and she wants to see you ASAP." Dakota gave Smith a pleading look, deferring to his judgement in this case.

Smith sighed, then said, "I guess the report can wait for a bit. Lead the way seaman."

"Yes, sir," Broun said, then ducked down a corridor. It didn't take long to find the sickbay, despite the fact that Broun got lost, twice. A quick round of questions reveled to Smith that he was off the _Halsey_, and had only come aboard the _Roosevelt _after his ship had been sunk.

"Sir, Johnston asked for me," Dakota announced, "Would you like me to go in first?" Smith nodded. Dakota was Johnston's CO, there was no sense breaking the chain of command for this, but he stood nearby so he could see what was going on. He could see that Johnston was sitting in a chair next to a bed, and in the bed was a girl he didn't recognize. "You wanted to see me, Johnston?" Dakota asked once she was in the room.

Johnston looked up at the battleship, then said, "I don't think you're going to believe this one."

"What do you mean?"

"We got a new girl," Johnston replied, seemingly changing the subject.

"How? Who?" Dakota replied, stunned. Johnston replied by pointing at the girl laying on the bed.

This apparently got her attention, because she raised a hand to wave at Dakota, and muttered, "Hi."

Dakota waved back apprehensively, and asked, "So who are you exactly?"

The girl shot Johnston a look, and asked the destroyer, "Should I? I mean, is it alright?" Johnston gave her a silent nod, then crossed her arms over her chest. The girl took a breath, then said, "You know how you lost a ship today, out there." She made a vague sweeping gesture to emphasize her point. "Well, you did lose one, but not for long."

"Wait, you mean," Dakota's eyes went wide as realization dawned, "You're?"

"Yep," the girl replied, nodding furiously, "My name is Halsey, nice to meet cha."

Dakota stood there, completely stunned for several seconds, before asking Johnston, "Is she telling the truth?"

Johnston shrugged, "I have no clue, but when I found her, she was passed out on the deck of the _Halsey_. I dragged her and Broun back with me." Smith couldn't take it anymore, he stepped through the hatch, earning a look of surprise from Johnston and one of confusion from Halsey.

"When did you get here, captain?" Johnston asked, confused.

Smith waved her off, as he bent down over Halsey and asked, "Are you really Halsey? How did you come back?"

She gave him a pained look, and replied, "I sunk, sir. I could feel it happening, and decided that if they could do it, I could too." She pointed at where Johnston was sitting. Smith reached down and put a hand on Halsey's shoulder in an attempt to calm the girl.

"My name is James Smith, and I'm the commander of the shipgirls," he explained, "If you would like, I could get you transferred to my command. You could work with Johnston, Dakota, and everyone else."

"Yes, sir. I want to keep fighting. I can't let those Abyssal bastards sink any more of my sisters," Halsey said, "We've already lost too many."

Smith patted her shoulder, "Good girl, you get some rest. I need to go make some calls." He started to walk out, but shot a glance back to Johnston, "Could I have a word with you, out in the corridor? You too, Dakota." A second later, and they were discussing in relative privacy. "Is she telling the truth?"

"Sir, I did find her passed out aboard the _Halsey_, and none of the other survivors recognizes her," Johnston replied, "I think so. She has to be." Smith reached up to run a hand through his hair while trying to work through things in his head.

"I served aboard her," he muttered, "I served aboard her, and now there she is, laying in front of me."

"Sir, what do we do?" Dakota asked, still trying to grasp the extent of the situation. Smith stood in silence for several seconds, a fact that unnerved Dakota.

Finally he replied, "We buck this up the chain. I'll have to have Admiral Davies look into this. Until then, she's in your chain, Dakota. Let Nick know she has one more DD to look after, or, in this case, a DDG."

"What do we do until then?" Johnston asked.

Smith took a quick look at his watch, then replied, "We'll be arriving in Pearl early tomorrow. After that we have a pretty full schedule laid out. I want to talk to her, but right now, I need a report on how the battle went."

"Sir, if it would be alright," Johnston interrupted, "I think I'll stay with Halsey for now. She's having a bit of trouble adjusting to things, and I think I can help her."

"That's a good idea, go ahead," Smith replied, then he had another thought, "Go find Nicholas, Johnston. She needs to be brought in on this, and you can do it while I'm talking with Dakota."

Johnston nodded, "Aye, sir." She ducked down the corridor and out of sight.

Smith turned back to Dakota and asked, "Think now would be a good time for that report?"

"Yes, sir, and the ready room isn't too far from here." Smith nodded his approval, then followed Dakota deeper into the carrier.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

All told, Nicholas was having a pretty decent day. The Abyssals had completely disappeared after their last battle. Even the cruiser and destroyer groups that had been harassing them ever since leaving Japan had disappeared completely. The lack of attacks had meant that Nicholas could stand down her girls for some much needed rest, and today was her day to stay off the line. She was using her free time to do a little research, and draft her after action report for Dakota. She had seen several things go right, and even more go wrong during the battle, and she wanted to get her knowledge down on paper before it faded from her memory.

Or at least she was trying to draft an AAR. O'Bannon was also in the room, doing everything she could to distract her twin. "Do you realize that what we're doing now is the exact same thing we did back then?"

"Uh-huh," Nicholas replied, not really paying attention to O'Bannon's ramblings, she was too busy attempting to decipher the official form.

"Escorting ships, smashing tin cans, and running away. Hell, the only thing that would really give me déjà vu would be if I got to charge a battleship, at night. Did you know Dakota met her you know? Hiei I mean, said she's nice enough, but a bit too crazy about her older sister."

"That's great," Nicholas replied. She was slowly coming to the realization that the report form was written in some foreign language, and wasn't supposed to be understood.

"Do you realize that Taffy 3 is more famous than us? I was on a few forums before we left, and all they could talk about was Taffy 3. Not one bit of love for the heroes of the slot," O'Bannon announced, changing her subject for the fifth time.

"Great, that's great." Nicholas was beginning to understand why Captain Smith snapped when someone entered his office unannounced. This was one form, and it was taking all of her concentration just to figure out what to write in each box.

"Oh, and I threw the rest of your uniforms overboard. You'll have to make do with what you can borrow from the Japanese," O'Bannon said, getting the feeling that her sister was no longer paying any attention to her.

"Great just," Nicholas began to say, then realized what O'Bannon had said, "You what?"

"Ah, got ya," O'Bannon said, poking a finger into Nicholas' forehead, "You don't listen too well. You need to learn to lighten up every so often." Nicholas sighed, then shoved the still incomplete form across the desk.

"You're right, this can wait."

"Great, now to restate, do you realize that no one knows what our old unit did during the war?" Nicholas was about to reply, when someone knocked on the hatch.

"Come in," she shouted, somewhat thankful to be able to forestall O'Bannon's latest rant.

Johnston suck her head into the stateroom, asking, "Ensign, you in here?"

"I need to explain something, but I really don't know how to put this," Johnston said, rubbing the back of her head in thought.

"You obviously have something to say, so say it," O'Bannon said.

Johnston took a deep breath, then began, "That girl we picked up off the _Halsey_, the one who was unconscious. Well, she's not a girl, or at least she's not a normal girl." Nicholas raised an eyebrow, having trouble following the other destroyer's train of though.

"Run that by me again, I don't think I got everything."

"This is the part I don't know how to explain," Johnston stated. She began to pace back and forth across the deck, wringing her hands together in though. Finally, she announced, "She's a shipgirl like us."

"She is," O'Bannon cut in, "Cool, who is she?"

"I'd like to know too," Nicholas added.

Johnston took a deep breath, then looked Nicholas strait in the eye, "She's Halsey." The room became so quiet, that you could hear the proverbial pin drop.

Finally, Nicholas managed to speak again, "She's who?"

"She's the AEGIS destroyer _Halsey_. Who was sunk by the Abyssals, and came back as a shipgirl," Johnston announced.

"That's a thing?" O'Bannon asked, "Can ships really come back on their own?"

"Apparently, they can," Johnston sighed, "Anyway, Captain Smith wanted me to tell you, seeing as she's now in your command."

Nicholas was stunned for the second time in the last ten minutes. "Captain Smith is aboard? Why?"

"Don't you remember, the whole reason we're talking this tub to Pearl," O'Bannon supplied, "The media circus gig." Nicholas sat in silence for several seconds, trying to piece together everything that she had just learned in the last five minutes.

"I didn't think it was possible for things to get stranger," Nicholas said softly.

"I know, right," Johnston exclaimed, "That's what I said."

"Is she awake?"

"I don't think I could be here talking about her if she wasn't."

"I want to meet her," Nicholas said. She stood up from her chair, and took a long stretch. She was a lot stiffer than usual. She must have been sitting down for way to long, again. "I need to get a feel for her."

"She's still in the sick bay," Johnston explained, "You can always go down to visit her."

"I've got a better idea," O'Bannon chimed in, "We need someone who is better with people than we are. Sad to say, but you can be a bit, stiff at times, sis."

"And who do you have in mind?" Nicholas said, choosing to ignore her sister's veiled insult.

"Which one of the squadron is the best with people," Johnston added, "The only one who would even give me the time of day when I first came aboard?"

Nicholas shot a look at O'Bannon, and then the two said simultaneously, "Radford."

"I'll go find her," Nicholas said, then pushed herself off the chair, "Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone."

"I'll keep 'er in line," O'Bannon replied, giving her sister a mock wave as she disappeared.

"I think she meant you," Johnston said, confused. O'Bannon, jumped off the desk and walked over to grab Johnston by the shoulder.

"Come on, I'm hungry, and I owe you lunch for that stunt you pulled with the laser" O'Bannon unceremoniously led Johnston out of the room, towards the mess hall.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Dakota lead Smith into the ready room a few minutes later. They had to shoo out a few girls in order to have a discussion in private. Smith sat down at a table, and took a long look at Dakota's face, trying to figure out how to start this conversation. He settled on, "What happened out there?" Dakota sighed loudly, then looked down at the tabletop for several seconds.

She looked up at Smith and began, "We weren't ready for the level of attack they hit us with, and I couldn't deal with it when they struck in force." That was why she wouldn't talk early, the reason she had seemed so evasive earlier. Smith had seen this before, Dakota was having second thoughts about herself.

"Tell me the whole story, and then we can talk about what you did," Smith said, thinking about how to approach this problem in his head. Junior Officers tended to have confidence problems. It took time and practice before one could lead men effectively.

"When it started we were in a briefing to discuss how we were going to scale back patrols," Dakota began, then detailed the course of the battle

Smith raised a hand to pause Dakota halfway through her explanation, "So, for clarification, the Abyssals only targeted the _Halsey_ after she fired her missiles?"

"Yes, sir. We think they saw her do that on our run to Japan, and were holding their carrier in reserve just to hit her."

"That's new," Smith said, rubbing his chin in thought, "I don't think we've seen one of their carriers in months."

"Why would that be, they're so powerful, why wouldn't they use them?" Dakota asked, confused.

"Because a carrier is a high valued assed, and when a squadron of cruisers and destroyers can take down all but the strongest of our old task groups, why risk a carrier? But them holding one in reserve, that's new. Throwing away the air group to strike a single target, that's not. They used to do that to probe our defenses. When several DDGs were working together, they could swat down those fighters like flies. Distressing as that is, what else happened?"

"Not much after that, sir. Anything they did have left ran away. We haven't seen them since. I don't know why," Dakota replied.

"Now Dakota, I want you to tell me how the battle went." She opened her mouth to protest, but Smith cut her off, "I want you to tell me, from your perspective, how the battle went. What went right and what went wrong from your view." This was a common tactic for testing officers, in order to see if they knew what their failings were.

"Sir, I," she began, then took a deep breath and tried again, "I-I, don't know. I know I screwed up, big time." Smith sighed, then stood up from his seat. "What are you doing, captain?" Dakota asked, confused. He ignored her for a few seconds as he undid the buttons on his uniform blouse. Pulling off the shirt, he draped it over the back of the chair, then sat back down.

"I just removed my eagles," he explained, "Now, I'm not Captain Smith, I'm just good 'ole James Smith. Start over, but this time don't think of me as your CO, just your friend."

Dakota nodded, "Sir, I…" Smith cut her off with a raised finger and a shake of his head. She nodded, then tried again, "I messed up. When the attack got crazy, and everything got confused, I didn't know what to do. I hesitated, and didn't give the order to send in fighter cover for _Halsey_ quick enough. We could have stopped them if I had."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Dakota. In the heat of battle, it's easy to get confused and not know what to do instantly," Smith tried to reassure the girl, but didn't quite manage it.

"I've done this before, when I had my goddamned electrics knocked out. I couldn't do anything but watch as the ships I was supposed to protect sank around me. Sir, I don't think I can be an officer, I can't handle this pressure. A few of the girls out their almost died, and one of our escorts sank. This was all my fault." The battleship had tears in her eyes when she leaned back, waiting for Smith to reply. He was surprised to see the normally twenty-something battleship suddenly look a lot older. He sighed, trying to decide what to say to this ship that seen more war than he ever would.

"What makes you think it was your hesitation that sank the _Halsey_?"

"Because Hornet had her fighters up, and I told her to keep them in reserve instead of trying to find the Abyssals. I was being too cautious, and because of that, they were too far away when the Abyssal carriers struck."

"And why did you tell Hornet to keep her planes in reserve?" Smith asked, trying to follow the battleship's logic.

"Because we thought the Abyssal carriers had run. We hadn't seen them all day, and I didn't think they would be waiting to launch an alpha strike."

"So you made your decisions based on known information, and were unprepared when the Abyssals did something you couldn't see coming?" Smith said, trying his best to figure out what exactly was upsetting Dakota. Because In his eyes, she had done everything right. He tried to lead her to this thought, "So you got hit with something new, and reacted to it, but weren't able to react fast enough because of circumstance?"

"Yes, maybe I couldn't have saved _Halsey_, no matter what I did," Smith had to keep himself from exclaiming with joy at Dakota's admission, but then what she said next stunned him even farther, "I hesitated, sir, because I was afraid. The destroyers came under attack, and all I could think of was that night off Guadalcanal. We lost four destroyers that night, did you know that? We fought the Japanese, and lost four destroyers because I took a bad hit. I couldn't save them then, and I thought I couldn't save them now."

"You know, I used to be terrified of the Abyssals," Smith said, the sudden change in subject confusing Dakota, "When they first hit us, I lost a good friend of mine. His ship was one of the first to be lost in this war. Then I had to watch as more and more casualty lists came over the wire services, thinking all the while that my ship would be the next one they hit. I was so afraid that I didn't think I would be able to think straight when they did attack."

"What happened?" Dakota asked, now curious. She didn't think it was possible for her CO to be afraid, she had never seen him even hit that he was scared.

"Well, we eventually got hit, as you know, and I was scared. They came in the same old way, we fought them in the same old way, and they beat us in the same old way," Smith replied, paraphrasing a quote he had heard from somewhere.

"If I may ask, how did you handle it?" Dakota asked, curiosity suddenly replacing her own misgivings.

"I was too scared to move," Smith replied, surprising Dakota, "Then Chief Boggs grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me out of it. I gave the orders, and we fought back. One of the first times we managed to fight them to a standstill. It's okay to be afraid, Dakota. Hell that just confirms that you actually are human. It's what you do when you are afraid that counts."

"Sir, I still feel that I'm not ready for this, if I can't do my job without freezing up," Dakota replied. There wasn't anything else he could do here, Dakota would have to come to the conclusion on her own. Smith stood up, then retrieved his blouse off the back of the chair.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, saying, "No matter what you think, you did fine out there Dakota. If you want to take a break from all this to collect your thoughts, I can do that, but we need you in the middle. This war is just getting hot again, and we need everyone we can get to fight it."

"I just can't take it, not if I crack up every time I try," she sighed. Smith shook his head in consternation. There were many things he was good at, unfortunately, this wasn't one of them. Trying to rebuild a person's confidence was a hard task, and would take some time. Right now, it was best to just let Dakota come to this realization on her own. He left her alone in the room. He would give her ten minutes, before sending Enterprise in to talk to her. Maybe the carrier would have more luck with this than he had. Smith walked down the corridor towards the hangar deck, expecting to find Enterprise there.

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Halsey was currently playing back the events of the last few days in her head, trying to figure out what exactly had happened to her. She remembered her last ten minutes as a ship quite vividly. The absolute terror she had felt as the cloud of torpedo bombers had descended on her, and she could do nothing to stop them. Then the pain that had wracked her hull as the Abyssal torpedoes tore holes in her flanks. After that, things just got fuzzy. She briefly remembered looking up at the bridge before everything went black, and she woke up here. With Johnston and Broun watching over her. That brought a smile to her lips, for some reason, the thought that someone had been there to take care of her made her feel good.

She was still having trouble coming to grips with her new form. The sudden presence of new feelings had overwhelmed her at first. She was finally coming to grips with it. If Dakota and the rest of them could deal with this, so could she. She was a guided missile destroyer of the US Navy, and she wouldn't waste her second chance to defend her country, no sir. Her lips creased in a faint smile as she thought about what her sisters would say if they could see her now. She was thinking about what she would tell her old division mates would think of her now, most of them were still tied up in Pearl. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard someone knock on the hatch. "Come in," she said. She was still intrigued by the sound of her own voice. A small girl stepped through the bulkhead and walked over to Halsey's bed. She recognized this girl, she must have been one of shipgirls from before.

She sat down on the edge of it, and held out a hand for Halsey to shake, "I'm Radford, DD-446, they said you're Halsey?"

Halsey took her hand and shook it fiercely, "USS Halsey, DDG-97. I guess you're the welcoming party? I've already met a few others, but they didn't stay that long."

"Nicholas told me to come down and say hello. She's still a little shaken up by this whole ordeal I think," Radford observed, "The captain's dealing with official stuff, and O'Bannon's still being a bit hostile, so I was the only one left."

Halsey nodded, then asked, "So, what now? I was told that I can fight with you girls, but I don't know how."

"We can teach you," Radford said, with a smile, "How to fight, and how to live. You're something special, Halsey, exactly what we need right now." Halsey came to the quick conclusion that she was going to like this little destroyer, and smiled back up at her.

"Am I interrupting something?" the voice from the hatch caused Halsey to sit up and look. It was that captain from earlier, the one with the eyepatch who had said he was the one in charge. Smith, she thought.

"No, sir," Radford said, standing up.

"Keep your seat, petty officer, I see they made you the ambassador? Can't blame Nicholas' choice really." Radford nodded agreement, and Smith walked over. He held out a hand for Halsey, who took it firmly, earning her a smile from the officer.

"I introduced myself earlier, but now that I've had a chance to think things over, I want to talk to you in person. I'll start out with asking if you have any questions for me."

There was one that she could think of, one that had been sticking in her mind like crazy, "What's next? What happens next?"

"Right now we're going to Pearl, as you should remember." She nodded, she did remember those orders, "When we get there, we're going to talk to Third Fleet. I'll try to figure out how you fit into things now. You are, technically still under their command. While I'm doing that, go visit Honolulu with the rest of these girls." He placed a hand on Radford's shoulder to make clear who he meant, then continued, "Let them help you. They've all been through this, and should be able to give you some insight."

"Alright," Halsey replied, "But what do I do about this?" She moved the sheet aside to display the cast around her leg.

Smith sat in silence, but Radford replied, "We get you some crutches, or a wheelchair, and work you through that. It'll heal in time, and you'll be back up to one hundred percent in no time."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Smith replied, "Get some sleep you two, we'll be pulling in early tomorrow, I want to see you Halsey after we get off. And Radford, tell O'Bannon to try to stay out of trouble, I don't want to have to go rescue her from the brig while we're there."

"Aye, sir." Smith stood up, and walked out without another word. From first impressions, Halsey figured that she was going to like this officer. She'd have to try to talk to him more later on. "Back to what we were discussing, if you need any help, just ask. DesRon 21 will be there for you." Halsey nodded, thanking Radford for her effort. This was going to be a long week for the new ship girl.

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**USS **_**Theodore Roosevelt**_**, Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii, July 11, 2018**

Manning the rails was a sign of respect and tradition that dated back to long before Smith had joined the service. And one of the places where the most respect was shown, was when a ship transited into Pearl Harbor. The ship's company was up on deck, standing evenly spaced along the rails, in their best uniforms. After the ship passed a certain point, the 1MC speaker blared, "Prepare to render honors to port, USS _Arizona_." As one, the company raised their hands to salute the wreck that had once been the battleship USS _Arizona_. It was a practice that could bring tears to the eyes of even the most senior personnel.

For Dakota, it was no different. She had somehow managed to convince the skipper of the _Roosevelt_ to let her girls stand the duty alongside the regular sailors, and they stood, in borrowed dress uniforms, saluting their fallen comrade. One that, perhaps, they might greet one day again, in person.

For Smith, the emotion of the moment was of a different sort. His girls had done it, they had accomplished something that had not been thought possible for months. For the first time since the beginning of the war, an American carrier was entering Pearl Harbor. He stood on the navigation bridge, watching as the harbor passed them by, and trying not to get in the way of the current watch. "It really is something," He muttered."

"The last time I remember seeing this port, everything was in flames," replied Enterprise, keeping her voice as soft as Smith's, "It's really something to see it now."

"Yeah, hopefully this won't be the last time we see it." The carrier lurched sideways as a tug nudged it towards its slip. A few minutes after that, she was alongside the pier, and lines were being snaked off to handlers in the dock. "Come on," Smith said, "I want to get this over with as soon as possible." He gave the _Roosevelt_'s captain, a friendly nod, then walked out of the bridge, hoping to find the rest of his girls. Things were just getting started.

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**A/N: **Well that's finally done, sorry for the delay, but school decided to whack me over the head rather heavily.

Anywho, review time:

Colonel AmiruddinArifSulaiman: Quite possibly. Well, the Abyssals have to start getting stronger sometime.

Rubin34: Here it is, sorry it took so long.

Thorthemighty321: Was thinking about it, but it will probably be a point in the final arc, whenever I get around to that.

SulliMike23: Time for her to exact some extra revenge, now ain't it?

Anonymous: As long as ya'll keep reading this, I'll keep writing it.

Advancer231: Atlantic side has kindof hit my writer's block pretty hard. I have some ideas, but the main fic takes precedence in this case.

Wolfman-053: Loved writing that bit, and I hope I can write more of her


	19. The end

A bit of an announcement. I've come to the conclusion that I can't finish this story. I made too many bad plot decisions early on in the fic, and I am unable to resolve them now. I made the cast too big, and I am unable to work with the number of subplots running simultaneously.

I do love the concept of this story, and I will be restarting it. This time around with more coherent plot points, fewer characters, and a more linear plot that I am able to keep track of.

This is an announcement as to the future of this fic. There will be more announcements in the days to


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